


Unforgotten

by Kim_Greenwood



Category: Ghost Adventures RPF
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-09-21
Updated: 2014-10-22
Packaged: 2018-02-18 04:34:20
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 15
Words: 49,580
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2335487
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kim_Greenwood/pseuds/Kim_Greenwood
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Joshua Tremont is a young talented singer and musician from the midwest trying to get his big break in 1980 Los Angeles. Sirena Welsh is the former lead singer of a world-famous rock band. Striking out on her own, she finds herself ensnared in the grasp of a ruthless producer who is not what she thought he was. Thrown together to record Sirena's debut solo album, Joshua and Sirena become friends; that friendship then deepens into love. And for that love, they pay the ultimate price.</p><p>----------</p><p>Nick Groff is a young filmmaker who becomes one of three paranormal investigators of the popular television program Ghost Adventures. Haunted by an apparition since childhood, then tormented by ever-increasing flashbacks of a time that wasn't his, Nick embarks on a quest for answers - answers to what lies ahead for all of us - and what was left behind.</p><p>Unforgotten - a story of love and death, rebirth and retribution,</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> \---PROLOGUE---
> 
> By the time he was thirty years old, Nick Groff gave very little thought to the scar, a ragged, faded zigzag circling about two-thirds the way around his left bicep. He gave even less thought to the pain that had accompanied that accident so long ago. He didn’t remember much about the accident itself, but the immediate aftermath – the blackout – this he remembered.
> 
> Nick knew he was eight when it happened. It was during the time when gadgets like IPads and Smartphones were still in the realm of Sci-Fi, and Nintendo and Atari were just taking hold. So playtime for a hyperactive eight-year-old still meant going outdoors to ride bikes, run in playgrounds and climb trees. He knew how the accident had occurred. He knew he’d impulsively climbed an old oak tree on the edge of the YMCA grounds and had grabbed for a rotting branch that suspended over a rusty old cyclone fence, intending to pull himself up on it. The branch had given way with a loud crack and Nick fell.
> 
> His left arm caught on the sharp barbs on the top of the fence, cruelly tearing muscle from bone.
> 
> Nick had blacked out with shock and blood loss.
> 
> The scar was something else, though – tangible, permanent evidence that the injury had been bad. He really had nearly been killed and if his mother had not chosen that moment to retrieve him and bring him back inside, if she had not known what to do to slow the bleeding, if the fence had severed the main artery, his life would have been over right then and there.
> 
> So many ifs.
> 
> Yes. That part he still remembered; what had happened in those waves of blackness in between brief periods of consciousness was something he would probably never forget.
> 
> The young woman with the long golden hair. She had appeared out of the unfathomable depths and spoke.
> 
> What had she said to him? Nick couldn’t remember.
> 
> And then, intermittently over the next two decades, the dreams. The woman coming through the darkness and speaking to him. And Nick awakening without the slightest recollection of what she actually said. At least, not until a hot June night in 2009 - the Linda Vista Hospital lockdown, when she appeared out of the blackness once more and spoke to him.
> 
>  
> 
> Only this time Nick was uninjured and fully conscious.
> 
>  
> 
> \-----------------------------------------

 

 

**\-----------PART ONE------------**

_No matter how many deaths that I die, I will never forget_   
_No matter how many lives that I live, I will never regret_   
_There is a fire inside of this heart_   
_and a riot about to explode into flames_

_  
Where is your God?_

_Where is your God?_

_Where is your God....?_

~"Hurricane" - 30 Seconds to Mars

 

**Chapter One**

**February, 1980**

**Los Angeles, California**

 

 

Joshua Tremont wasn’t famous – wasn’t even close. Getting a credit on an album’s inner sleeve hardly constituted success in the music business; though for a twenty-year-old kid who was still pretty damp behind the ears, seeing his name in print on a Frampton album was as good as seeing it on a marquee. Hey - he was on his way.

Peter Frampton had already reached the apex of his career, true, but he was still a name. A very well-known, connected name, and Joshua felt honored to be chosen from all the hungry studio musicians in L.A. to lend his talent to the album. And who knew what it would lead to next? Frampton had shown up on a day Joshua had happened to be at Sweetfire Studios cutting a demo. He’d paid an obscene amount he could ill afford for the privilege and tried to tell himself it wasn’t a waste of time and money. And, as he soon discovered, it wasn’t.

Frampton heard him play and sing and liked what he heard. Offered him the job and Joshua said yes. And that was that. Maybe Dylan was right about things just happening like that – a simple twist of fate. In any case, Frampton had liked Joshua’s work on the album, and really, getting to play alongside a powerhouse, an idol - albeit a slightly faded one - well, how many guys from his little hometown of Burlington, Iowa could boast the same?

The session lasted a week and Joshua got paid union scale which barely replaced what he’d spent to cut the demo. But still, his name was there on Peter Frampton’s album. His name. Joshua Tremont, bassist and backup vocals! Priceless.

Until then, Joshua had spent his first six months in L.A. scraping by with odd jobs here and there. Waiting tables, slicing lox in a Jewish deli, a singing gig in a supper club whenever he could book one, and occasional sessions at Sweetfire. Finally landing a semi-regular weekend job at Dino’s Italian Bistro – a seedy dive if there ever was one – singing what amounted to elevator muzak for the diners. Hardly what he’d imagined for himself when he’d set off for Los Angeles to follow his dream of becoming a rock star. Still, the thought of giving up and returning to Iowa refused to take root in his mind. There was nothing for him there. Sure, he had a mother, siblings - a houseful of those in fact - and Joshua knew he wasn’t missed. He suspected his going was a bit of a relief. One less mouth to feed, and his mother had more than enough to deal with.

Joshua’s father, never much good for anything but drinking and getting his kicks knocking around his wife and kids, was brought up on an armed robbery charge when Joshua was twelve. It was the kind of armed robbery that ended badly and an elderly drugstore proprietor and his wife were dead as a result. John Tremont got twenty-five to life. Janice Tremont finally divorced him, remarried, ironically to one of the cops that had busted Joshua’s dad and she subsequently added two more to her existing brood of four. Joshua was now the eldest of six. He and his stepdad never hit it off and it wasn’t long after Joshua graduated high school that he set his sights on the West Coast. He just packed his beloved Gibson (how many shit farmhand jobs had he taken to earn that?), gassed up his '69 Camaro (a lot more shit farmhand jobs had paid for that) and Joshua hit the road and never looked back.

Good-looking but not exactly a standout, Joshua had very little success with women in LA, but California girls were different than the girls back home. Phony, bitchy, self-absorbed. At least that was his assessment of the women his roommates managed to score with. Pains in the ass all the way around and not worth the headache, in Joshua’s opinion. Anyway it was soon made very clear that Adonis looks and big money were two prerequisites to catch a woman’s interest out here. Joshua possessed neither. So he focused on other things; namely his music and his daydreams of one day making it big.

He lived with two other studio musicians also hoping for their big break. Misery loved company in that regard, but that’s where the similarities between Joshua Tremont, Craig Stevens, and Mike Gruis ended. Both were blonde and built like surfers (which they were whenever they had a chance), where Joshua was slender and his hair, while quite long with the slightest bit of natural wave, was a nondescript brown. His best feature were his eyes; large, almond shaped, and an interesting hazel/brown color fringed with thick lashes and, when it appeared, he had a great infectious smile.

Where Craig and Mike were outgoing and athletic, Joshua was serious, introverted and studious – a nerd, one could say. Yet the three of them got along well and had been friends since meeting at an employment agency when Joshua had first arrived in California and faced the sad truth that record companies weren’t going to be ringing his phone off the hook with multi-million dollar contracts. Craig and Mike had likewise discovered that their musical talent and looks only got them so far professionally in a town overrun with talented, beautiful people all vying for the same thing – stardom. It was a tough old world, all right.

A couple of months after the Frampton session, Columbia Records called while Joshua was at work. Craig had gotten the call and could hardly contain his excitement when Joshua dragged himself in after a day shift at the deli and then four hours at Dino’s. Craig was off the couch and covered the living room in four long strides, meeting Joshua at the door the second he opened it.

“Oh, man, J, cop a load of _this_!"  He shoved a piece of paper in Joshua’s face before Joshua could close the door and set his guitar case down. “You gotta session, man!” Craig was genuinely happy for his friend and roommate, though sessions he was called to sit in on were just as few and far in between as Joshua’s. Craig clapped him on a thin shoulder and yelled “congratulations, dude, you lucky sonofabitch!”

Joshua read the message and looked up, expressions of shock, disbelief and joy crossing his face. “S-Sirena? Sirena _Welsh_?” He looked at the paper again and blinked a few times. “Are you _sure_ that’s who he said?”

“Yeah, man!” Craig exclaimed. “Oh man, I wanna meet her so bad!” He gave Joshua a little shake and repeated, “You lucky _sonofabitch!”_

Sirena Welsh. Joshua idolized her. Dark gypsy-eyes, with cascades of dirty-blonde hair, Sirena was goddess-like in her ethereal beauty and aura of mystery, her uniquely raspy and haunting voice serenading him through his high school years. The band she’d fronted, Tramp, had been one of the hottest bands around; a true supergroup, right up there with The Eagles, Journey, Boston and Foreigner; then just like that it was over. The band breakup late last year was the biggest shocker since the split-up of the Beatles. And then just as suddenly, the news broke that Sirena was pursuing a solo career. And now he, Joshua Tremont, had been asked to session with her? It hardly seemed possible.

 _A simple twist of fate_ , Joshua thought incoherently as he sunk into the battered rust-and-gold plaid Goodwill couch in their living room, still staring at the hastily scribbled message Craig had written. _A simple twist of fate._

When Mike got home from work soon after – he had a job packing produce in a warehouse, getting off at 3:00am – he went into an advanced state of excitement for his friend too. They talked until dawn about what it might mean for Joshua to land this session; Sirena was rumored to be a perfectionist, which in turn meant Joshua might be logging a lot of hours in the studio – certainly more than he had with Peter Frampton. And while union scale was hardly big money, it was more than he was making gigging in seedy supper clubs and slicing lox.

After a restless few hours of attempted sleep, Joshua downed several cups of coffee and called Columbia back. And said yes, naturally, trying his best to keep his poise. To his disappointment, however, he was told that he would likely not actually be in the studio with Sirena herself at all. He was only to cut some vocals and lay some lead guitar tracks, and the actual mixing with Sirena’s vocals would be done in the mixing booth.

Of course. That's how they did things these days. To say Joshua was disappointed was an understatement, but gamely he agreed anyway. If nothing else, he would get credit on the album’s inner sleeve and again see his name in print on a superstar’s record.  What more should a guy like him ask for?

Craig and Mike seemed as crestfallen as Joshua himself; it hardly seemed fair, they said, to get his hopes up only to crush them. That was the recording industry, they told him. It would still be cool to hear him sing with Sirena, though, wouldn’t it? Provided of course that any of the songs he worked on actually made it to the album.

Of course, Joshua told them and himself, and he meant it. God knew he had sung along with her countless times already. He knew her unique voice as well as his own. What if a song he worked on ended up being cut as a single, played all over the radio, all over the world? There was no way Joshua couldn’t be excited at that prospect. It would be a dream come true, even if he never got to meet Sirena herself. But oh, God, how he wanted to meet her, to talk to her, to tell her how beautiful she was, how amazing she was, how much he admired her talent, how she was everything he ever dreamed of.

Like every other guy on the planet didn’t feel the same way about Sirena Welsh. But he, Joshua Tremont, a nobody, was chosen to actually sing with her. To record with her and make possibly a hit record with her. He couldn’t help but feel that made him special. A _somebody_.

Joshua arrived at Sweetfire Studios at precisely ten in the morning exactly a week later. Though Sirena wouldn’t be there, he was nervous nonetheless as he tentatively stepped inside the building and made his way to the receptionist’s desk. A dark haired man in a suit was there speaking to the secretary and Joshua waited, shifting his Gibson slung across his back, lost in thought and anticipation. His mouth was dry with apprehension and he wondered if he’d be able to sing a note without drinking a whole lot of water, which of course then would mean having to piss nonstop -

The mention of Sirena’s name jarred him. The man in front of him had spoken it.

“- window of time. I want Sirena to wrap this up in three weeks, so please be sure that there is adequate studio time to accommodate us.”

Susan Bright, the secretary who Joshua knew from his previous sessions laying tracks for artists that went nowhere, cutting his demo, and then with Frampton, thinned her lips as she looked up at the man with barely concealed distaste. Strange, Joshua had known Susan to be very polite and gracious to everyone. “Of course, Mr. Landry. We will certainly accommodate Sirena any way she needs us to.” Her voice had an edge. Handing the man a badge, she noticed Joshua standing silently and off to the side. Her tone brightened considerably as she smiled and said, “Joshua! Hi there!”

The man turned and barely gave Joshua a glance before walking away, heading into the bowels of the studio without so much as a thank you to Susan. Joshua caught a glimpse of chiseled, handsome features and piercing gray eyes before the man strode through the double doors on the left side of the lobby. The very air around the guy reeked of power and money.

“Geez Susan, who’s that?” Joshua asked when he was gone.

“A Columbia Records bastard.” Susan glared at the door the man had gone through. “I had no idea Paul Landry is Sirena Welsh’s producer now.” She tossed her feathered mane of blonde frosted, Farrah Fawcett-inspired hair and looked at Joshua again. “And lucky _you_ , you’re recording with her!” Susan smiled. “Takes the sting out of working with a jerk like Landry, at least a little.”

“Well, in a way I guess I’m recording with her,” Joshua mumbled as Susan handed him a badge. He had no idea who Paul Landry was, had never heard of him. “It’s not like I’m really working with her. I’m cutting backup vocals and laying down some guitar tracks is all. It’s not like she’ll be here or anyth –“suddenly Joshua remembered what the producer, Landry, had said. “Wait a sec – she’s here?” Joshua’s eyes widened and his heart began to pound erratically. Unconsciously, nervously, he touched the beginning of the thin mustache and goatee he’d started growing the last few weeks. Oh, shit. Why hadn’t he shaved?

Susan smiled. “She sure is. She arrived fifteen minutes before you did. Go on back now, they’re probably waiting for you, and she and especially Paul Landry don’t like to be kept waiting.”

Joshua managed a thanks, his heart pounding so loudly he barely heard himself speak. Overcome with nerves and excitement, he entered the double doors and his future.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two**

Joshua had no idea what he was expecting once he got to the recording engineer’s mixing room but it certainly wasn’t what he found.   With all the racing thoughts running through his mind, his first objective was getting back there without passing out from the anxiety attack threatening.  _One step after another, J, and get a grip on yourself for Christ’s sake!_

Glancing into a sound booth as he passed it, he saw a multi-colored satchel on the stool in front of the mic.  A Styrofoam cup perched precariously on the lip of the music stand below the microphone.  A number of books on the floor, and a quick glance at one worn cover made Joshua pause.  _Witchcraft from the Inside,_ by someone named Raymond Buckland.

As he pondered this, raised voices caught Joshua’s attention.  Male and female, coming from the direction of the mixing room.  Joshua turned his attention from the sound booth and made his way down the hall.  He turned the corner into the room and found the man from Columbia Records, Paul Landry, seated at the soundboard and arguing with a very angry Sirena Welsh.  Her large dark eyes were ablaze with indignation and her cheeks were flushed.  Her arms were crossed and she was tapping one foot impatiently.

Joshua took that moment to drink in the vision of Sirena, live and in the flesh, just feet away.  He’d seen her in countless photos, on album covers, on television interviews.  Nearly always she was wearing gypsy style clothing with flowing sleeves and long skirts, her hair falling over her shoulders and down her back, framing delicate, perfect features.  And her low voice with the slightest bit of rasp that sent delicious chills down his spine.

The woman before him bore little resemblance to the goddess he’d seen, other than her mane of dark blonde hair in curly disarray.  Clad in jeans and an off-the-shoulder white peasant blouse, makeup-less, she somehow seemed even more beautiful, certainly more real to him.  And her voice was anything but low and modulated when she yelled “ _Lavender_ is _my_ project, Paul!  _Mine_!  I cannot and will not do some shit haphazard job in three fucking weeks on my solo album!”  Her hands began to gesticulate wildly around the studio.  “I’m gonna do this and I’m gonna do this right, but I need more time than that!”

Paul Landry rose lazily from the stool he was sitting on by Edward Sweet, head recording engineer and owner of Sweetfire Studios.  He stepped in front of Sirena, blocking Joshua’s view.  Neither of them had noticed him come into the room and stand there uncertainly, but Edward did and he caught Joshua’s eye, shaking his head imperceptivity and waving him out.  _Give it a few minutes_ , he mouthed, while Sirena yelled, “I can’t believe you expect me to cut this album in three goddamned weeks!” 

Joshua backed out of the room as quietly as he’d entered it.  Out in the hallway he leaned against the wall and listened to Landry speak tersely.

“I know how badly you’ve wanted to do this album, but I also know you’re used to being this midnight cat, this queen, who thinks she can just show up at the studio whenever she feels like it.  You bring that satchel of…”Landry paused…”whatever it is you do, your books and rocks and candles and whatever other crazy voodoo witch garbage, you bring in your friends and your friends’ friends and completely wreck the studio.”

Sirena began to say something and Landry cut her off. “That’s not how we’re doing this album, Sirena.  In the first place you’ve only got three weeks –“

“Goddammit, I said –“

“And in the second place, I have no desire to waste my time with a cartoon.”

“A _cartoon_!”  There was pure outrage in Sirena’s voice.

“Yes.  A cartoon.  This is business and you’d better get that through your head.  For all these years you’ve had a band behind you.  A built-in support system.  You’ve been coddled and protected.  Now, all you have is me, and you better listen up and get some discipline or you’re going to get buried alive and you’ll be on your own.  You’re not in any way, shape, or form a proven solo artist and we both know that.   This is not Tramp.  This is not big-time rock and roll.  This is you being self-indulgent and me doing you a favor.  If you want to do this, fine, we’ll do it but we’ll do it _my_ way.  Otherwise I can walk out of this project and I will.  Now, go on and get ready.  Time’s ticking.”

Joshua now understood why Susan Bright didn’t like Landry.  He felt his own anger rising on Sirena’s behalf and he didn’t even know the woman.  Paul Landry came off as a cold unfeeling asshole without a shred of interest in the hopes and dreams of artists like Sirena – or like himself.  He represented every door that had slammed in his face these past several months, every “sorry, kid” he’d heard.  Joshua felt his excitement at working with Sirena waning.  Because working with Sirena Welsh meant working with Paul Landry.

He sighed as silence descended in the mixing room.   _Well, may as well introduce myself_ , he thought.   He straightened and started for the mixing room.  Just then a whirlwind of blonde hair flew around the corner and ran right into Joshua, knocking him off his feet.

 

“Oh, my God! I'm so sorry! Are you okay?” 

He lay there sprawled out in the hall, his Gibson in its case half under him.  He looked up directly into a pair of deep brown eyes, full of concern.  For him.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” Joshua muttered, deeply embarrassed at his undignified position.  He sat up and untangled himself from his guitar case strap.  Sirena knelt beside him and he felt her touch the back of his head where it had struck the floor.  His ears were ringing a little bit and his head hurt, but the sensation of Sirena’s fingers gently touching him made none of that matter.  Her touch was heaven.

“I am so sorry,” she repeated urgently. “God, I’m so stupid sometimes! Oh, no, I think you have a bit of a bump here.  Let me look at it.”  He felt her parting his hair and shivered.  The sensation of her touch stopped immediately.  “Sorrysorrysorry, I'm sure that hurt!  Thank God you're not bleeding.”

“No..I mean, yeah…but…no.  I’m okay, really,” Joshua stammered.  This was crazy.  He'd envisioned meeting Sirena Welsh in person a million times - dreamed of it, in fact.  He thought of every scenario in which he'd fantasized meeting her. And the last several minutes it was all he could think of, what he would say, what she would say, how they would come face to face for the first time.  This absolutely was not it.  He started to rise and Sirena took his hand and helped him up.  He felt a little woozy, then it was gone.

“Okay?” she asked, her face still etched with worry.

“Uh-huh, I’m fine, thanks,” Joshua replied and gave her a smile.  She returned it and he felt his heart skip several beats. 

“God I’m so stupid!” Sirena exclaimed again.  “I didn’t see you there.  I wasn’t watching where I was going at all, and bam, I knock you over and could have given you a concussion!”  She slapped her forehead with her palm for emphasis.  “I’m still not sure I didn’t, actually.”

“No, you didn’t.  I’ve had a concussion before, when I was a kid.  Really, I’m fine.”

“When you were a kid?”  Sirena inquired.  “You’re still a kid, aren’t you?”

"I'll be twenty-one on April nineteenth,” Joshua told her with an edge of defensiveness, feeling the color rise in his face.  “So I guess to you, maybe I am,” he shrugged.  He knew Sirena was older than him by a good four years.  He had a very youthful face and he knew it.  He’d hoped the sparse amount of facial hair he’d been growing had made him look older.  So much for that.  His dream woman thought he was just some kid.

“Oh. I had you pegged for maybe sixteen,” Sirena replied as Joshua picked up his guitar case and they began to walk down the hall in the direction of the sound booth with the books inside it. "No offense."

"None taken."  _Sixteen?_   Jesus!  Not just a kid but a child!

“Can I see your guitar?” she asked, nodding at it. 

“Sure,” Joshua said, grateful for the change of subject.  They went into the sound booth and she took the satchel from the stool, telling him to sit.  Joshua handed her his guitar and obeyed, watching Sirena take his Gibson from its case.  She looked it over and nodded approvingly.

“Nice axe.”  She smiled and slipped the strap over her head.  Softly she played a few chords, then ran over some riffs.  “Real nice.”  She looked up at him, those gypsy eyes locking onto his, her gaze measuring and hypnotic.  “What’s your name, by the way?”

“J-Joshua,” he stammered, mesmerized by that intense look.  “I already know yours,” he finished lamely and looked away, embarrassed by his own discomfiture, the effect she had on him.

Sirena laughed and it was like music to him.  “Yes, I suppose you do.”  She played a few more chords and then handed it to him.  “So, J-Joshua,” she gently teased without a trace of mockery, “are you the J-Joshua that’s sessioning with me?”

“The very same,” he said, somehow regaining his composure.   He even reached out his hand and she shook it with a grin.

“Right on,” her grin broadened into a brilliant smile.  “So if I didn’t do any permanent damage to you out there, let’s make some music.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: While I've done some songwriting in my day, I'm nowhere near good enough to write something Sirena and Joshua would record, even in a fictional tale. So I borrowed "Iris" by the GooGoo Dolls...definitely a song Joshua would write and perform. Maybe if I revise this into a completely original work, I'll put one of my own songs in the story :)

 

**Chapter Three**

 

 

Making an album might sound glamorous to some, at least to those who haven’t toiled in a recording studio under the eyes and ears of a producer like Paul Landry.  Joshua knew what kind of work it was and made no mistake that even recording with Sirena Welsh was going to be just that – work.  Add Paul Landry to the equation and he soon found out what he had let himself in for.

Alone in a sound booth, he despaired as his usually clean playing was interrupted for the fifth time on a chord change; his F-Chord sounded like it came from a shoebox stuffed with cotton.  The red light in the booth with the word “RECORDING” under it abruptly turned off and Edward Sweet’s voice rang into Joshua’s ears.  “Cut!”

Joshua sighed and shook his head, unable to believe he had screwed up yet again.  Flipping the sheet music in front of him, he prepared to start the song from the beginning.  Instead, Edward spoke again, requesting he come to the mixing room.

_That’s it,_ Joshua thought despairingly as he left the sound booth.  _My walking papers._   _I couldn’t cut it.  Why the hell did I ever think I could?_

When he entered the mixing room he could barely look at Edward; never mind Paul Landry, who was standing with his arms crossed, a deep frown crossing his face. 

“I don’t know what you thought you were doing when you suggested this kid,” Landry said to Edward.  “But we don’t have time for amateurs.”

Joshua’s stomach twisted painfully, though it wasn’t the first time he’d heard this kind of dismissive send-off.  _I’m good, goddammit,_ he thought angrily, still unable to meet Landry’s eyes.  He felt defeated.  He felt like a dog turd lying in a gutter.  He felt like a complete and total loser.  What Sirena must be thinking of him, and that hurt Joshua more than anything Landry could dish out – he’d heard it all before.  But – he _knew_ he was better than what he’d delivered in these two hours.  He’d played bass on four of Frampton’s songs and had done background vocals on six – fully half of the album, and had needed at most three takes on any of them.  Why was he playing so terribly today?

Edward stared at Joshua.  “What’s wrong with you today, kid?”  He shook his head in bewilderment.  “I’ve heard you play a million times these last few months.  You did incredible things with Peter a couple months back and now you sound like a twelve year old after a month of lessons.”  His dark eyes reflected his obvious disappointment and yes, embarrassment.

Joshua flushed a dull red and spoke, because he knew an answer was expected.  “I – I really don’t know, Eddie.  I’m sorry, it’s just  - “

Landry threw his hands in the air.  “You’ve got to be kidding me.  He stinks, plain and simple, that’s what’s wrong with him.  Get him out of here!  Who else have you got, Sweet?  Get someone else and do it fast!”

“No one else.”

Everyone turned to look at Sirena standing in the doorway.  She leaned against the frame and shook her glorious mane of golden hair.  “I want him.” She pointed at Joshua for emphasis.  “Only him.”  Her eyes sparked defiance.

“He can’t play, and God knows what his singing is like!” Landry snapped.  “Need I remind you there is a very narrow time-frame involved here, Sirena?”  He pointed at Joshua as he strode toward her.  “You said you want to do this record right, didn’t you?  How do you expect to make any kind of record with some third rate bum –“

“Fuck off, Paul.”  Sirena interrupted.  “I’ve heard Joshua play, and I’ve heard him sing.  He’s good.  He’s better than good, he’s an artist.  Not that _you’d_ know a goddamned thing about _that_ , but I do.  I want him, and I’ll have him on Lavender with or without you producing.”  Sirena bit each word off neatly, her incredible eyes narrowing.  “You know Lavender is going to be a success or you wouldn’t have taken on this project, and I asked you to work with me because you’re one of the best there is and I need your backing, yes, because as you remind me every day, I’m unproven as a solo artist.   But it’s my project in the end, and I’ll cut this record as an indie if I have to, to do it the way it deserves to be done.  And it deserves Joshua, and he deserves it.”

“You’re under a contract –“ Landry sputtered.

“Yeah?  And so are you.”  Sirena’s eyes gleamed with what looked like triumph. "Now, Joshua and I are going to take us a little break.  And I guarantee when we come back you’ll be very happy with what you hear.  From both of us.”  Sirena stepped forward and reached for Joshua’s hand.  He took it numbly, too dumbfounded by her words to register the fact that they were holding hands.  Sirena’s angry look softened into one of gentle reassurance when she looked at Joshua and said, “let’s get out of here for a little while, okay?”  He could only nod as she led him out of the mixing room.

They ignored Landry’s protests echoing in the hall of the studio.  Susan Bright, keeping vigil at the front desk, watched wide-eyed as Sirena Welsh and Joshua Tremont ran through the lobby and out the door.

“Where – where are we going?” Joshua asked breathlessly. 

“Which car is yours?” Sirena asked, glancing dismissively at the silver Bentley parked near the front door.  Landry’s car, no doubt.  Sirena must have ridden with him, Joshua thought.

“Over there,” Joshua pointed at his yellow Camaro.

“A Camaro?”  Sirena squealed.  “Right on!  Let’s go for a ride, Joshua!  Can I drive?”

“Really?”  Joshua replied, reaching into his jeans for the keys.

“Hell yes!  I haven’t gotten to drive in forever and I’ve never driven a Camaro.”  She looked delighted.

Joshua unlocked the driver’s side door and handed her the keys with a smile.  “Your chariot, m’lady.”  

Sirena handled his car expertly.  She navigated through the LA streets like a professional, her eyes shaded with a pair of sunglasses Joshua had in the glove box.  He watched her furtively as she drove, a small smile on her lips.  The windows were down and her hair blew about her face in disarray.  Joshua fought the urge to touch it.  He couldn’t believe any of this was even happening.

“I’m starved,” Sirena stated.  “Let’s grab some lunch.”  A McDonald’s was coming up on the right.  Sirena pulled in and parked the car, then turned to look at him.  He couldn’t read her expression behind the shades.  “I hate to ask this, Joshua, but could you go in and order for me?”  She gestured vaguely around them.  “It’s LA, but still –“she gave a small, helpless shrug.

Joshua knew what Sirena meant.  She was famous; he was not.  She would be recognized and likely mobbed.  He nodded.  “Sure.”

Sirena smiled and lowered the shades.  “You’re a really sweet guy, you know that?”

Joshua felt himself blush.  Sirena told him what she wanted, and reached into her jeans pocket.  Suddenly Joshua put his hand over hers.  “No, I’ve got it.”

“But –“

“My treat.  It’s the least I can do after you defended me to Paul Landry.”  He withdrew his hand and this time Sirena covered it with hers.

“Joshua, I meant what I told him.  I won’t work with anyone else,” Sirena said quietly.  Her eyes were fixed on his.  “You’re something special.  I wouldn’t say that if I didn’t mean it.”  Her hand squeezed his, her eyes still locked on his unwaveringly.  “I need you.   Not…well, not just for Lavender.  I want us to be good friends, and I need a good friend.”  She blinked and looked away for a moment, then pushed the shades back up and faced him again with a smile.  “Now go get us some lunch and we’ll go somewhere quiet and talk for a little while, okay?”

His heart fluttering madly in his chest, Joshua obeyed. 

Sirena next drove them into the Hollywood Hills.  Joshua had not been in this part of the city before – never had reason to.  He wasn’t the type to check out where the celebrities live.  Up around some winding, tranquil streets lined with stately homes, they came to a park surrounded by trees.  There were no other cars in the small parking lot.

Through the trees and down a small hill there was a clearing, and there they sat on the ground feasting on burgers, fries and Cokes.  When she finished, Sirena wadded up their wrappers and shoved them in the bag, laying back in the grass.  She’d left the shades in the car and she closed her eyes, looking utterly peaceful and relaxed, lying there with her hands behind her head.

“Do you know how lucky you are, Joshua?” She murmured softly.

“Getting to work with _the_ Sirena Welsh, having her stand up for me to her big-shot producer, wanting me to session with her?  Yeah, I’m still trying to believe all of that.  Lucky is an understatement.”  He laughed a little.

When Sirena didn’t respond, he looked at her and she was staring at him, frowning a little.

“I don’t mean any of that.  In fact that’s the opposite of what I meant.  I meant, you can drive your pretty Camaro around and not worry about drawing any attention to yourself.  You could go into McDonalds, the gas station, the Laundromat, the market, a restaurant or anywhere else you like whenever you want to and not worry.  You don’t have to have body guards, security systems, you don’t have to worry about every move you make or every word you say to people getting taken out of context.  You don’t have paparazzi following you around.  That’s what I meant, Joshua.  You get to be _normal_.”  She sighed.  “I _miss_ normal.  And when it comes to relationships – forget it.”  She shook her head.  “I know it looks so glamorous, private jets and lots of money and all that –“She paused.  “I’m sorry, Joshua.  I’m not trying to make you feel sorry for me.  I just want you to know I envy you.  You have loads of talent and an artist’s soul without the burden of fame.”

Joshua lay on his side, propped up on one elbow and looked down at Sirena.  “I guess I never thought of fame as a burden, but I see what you mean.  I don’t really want my life to change, but I want to get my music out there.  How can I do that?  By doing what I’m doing – sessions.”  He shrugged.  “I just want more than that.”

“I really wasn’t aware of it until Tramp broke up.  I guess the guys kept me away from most of it.  I mean, I signed autographs, I got recognized everywhere I went but the guys were always with me, and if you ever saw Mitch –“Joshua knew she was referring to Tramp’s drummer, a bearded giant of a man Sirena had been rumored to be involved with –“well, he kind of doubled as my bodyguard I guess.

"Plus, I was really young when I joined them.  Just a kid, you know, and it kind of didn’t matter then.  I hadn’t matured yet.  And now, well, I’m on my own and coming to realize that not everyone loves me for _me_ , you know?  Everyone wants something.”  She paused, then abruptly changed the subject.  “Do you write a lot of music?  I mean, I heard your demo, and it’s great.  I’ll be honest, though, there’s something kind of missing.”

Joshua pondered Sirena’s words, her experiences with fame, then he realized she’d asked him a question.  “Yeah, I write a lot of songs.  You heard it?  What’s missing?”  Joshua felt himself starting to blush again, and he willed it away.  Jesus!  She’d heard his song.

“A female voice.  That song would be wonderful as a duet.  I’m thinking we should work on it for Lavender, if you’re agreed to it.”

Joshua stared at her, mouth agape, unsure he’d heard correctly.

“You’re gonna catch flies, my friend.”

Joshua closed his mouth but he continued to stare at Sirena and she began to sing. 

_"And I'd give up forever to touch you_  
 _'Cause I know that you feel me somehow_  
 _You're the closest to heaven that I'll ever be_  
 _And I don't want to go home right now_  
  
 _And all I can taste is this moment_  
 _And all I can breathe is your life_  
 _'Cause sooner or later it's over_  
 _I just don't want to miss you tonight."_

Joshua felt himself tingling all over, that kind of sensation one gets when they know they’re in the presence of something magical.  Sirena’s eyes were alight with excitement and Joshua knew she felt it too – they were creating something magical.  She lay there in the grass with him and together they sang the chorus, finding their respective harmonies with absolutely no effort at all.

_"And I don't want the world to see me_  
 _'Cause I don't think that they'd understand_  
 _When everything's meant to be broken_  
 _I just want you to know who I am."_  

As their voices trailed off, Sirena sat up and pulled Joshua up beside her.  “See?” she laughed.  “I love it!”  She grabbed Joshua in a hug and, shocked as well as very pleased, he hugged her back.  She felt and smelled wonderful.  He buried his nose in her hair and felt he could die a very happy man in that moment.  He heard her murmur, “we have to record it.  We _have_ to.”  Joshua could only nod wordlessly.

She pulled away from him and sat with a huge grin.  “I love moments like this.  When I can get excited and happy about something again.”

“You’re not excited and happy about Lavender?”  Joshua inquired.

“Well, yeah, but I mean, something that’s just mine – well, it’s ours,” she corrected herself.  “I love the song,” she said softly.

“You made it a lot better,” Joshua said gently.  “The demo –“

“The demo is the foundation, the heart of the song.  It came from right there –“ Sirena pointed at his chest.  “I just – completed it.  I hope.”

“You gave it life.  You gave it soul.”

Sirena studied him.  “Do you have a girlfriend, a wife, or –“

Joshua shook his head.

“Oh, God.  Are you gay?  Please tell me you’re not gay.”  Joshua began to speak and she held up her hand.  “I have nothing against gay people, it’s not that, so please don’t get me wrong, it’s just, well –“

“I’m not gay.”

“Whew.”

“And I don’t have a wife or a girlfriend.”  Joshua shook his head.  “In fact, I haven’t dated since I got here.”  He shrugged.  “California girls are different than girls back home.  I don’t have what they want.”

“Hm.  Where’s home, and what don’t you have?  I think you’re very attractive, Joshua.”

_Oh my God_ , Joshua thought dazedly.  He couldn’t have heard her right.  “Home is Iowa, and I don’t have athletic ability or the build to go with it, nor the bank account they all seem to want.”

“Silly bitches,” Sirena murmured softly, so softly Joshua barely heard her.  “So, what’s your family like?”

Oh, God, Joshua despaired.  How could he tell her his father was an abusive alcoholic who was even now rotting away in prison for blowing away an elderly couple in a drugstore heist?  How could he explain about his mother, a work-weary codependent with too many kids and an emotionally closed-off cop for a husband?  What would Sirena think of him then?  He couldn’t tell her any of it.  But she expected an answer, so he lied.  He told her his father was a very busy attorney, his mother a teacher.  That he spoke to them regularly, that his upbringing was very normal, very middle class.  His parents were very loving and supportive of his career and missed him very much, and he them. And the more he spoke, the more he felt like an utter fraud.  Describing the childhood and upbringing of a complete stranger.  Guilt ate away at him, and when he looked at Sirena, she was listening attentively.  Feeling worse than ever under her regard, he fell silent.

“Sounds nice,” Sirena said.  “My parents – ah, what can I say about them?  Dad’s a CEO with a string of mistresses from coast to coast and mom’s a snooty society matron back in Connecticut who’s all about her causes and charities and shopping, always shopping, and church.  Always church.  A bunch of hypocrites.  Throwing parties with the same narrow-minded people with their mindless bullshit chatter, all the while the husbands are eyeing up any female who aren’t their own wives, and the wives are eyeing up all the males that aren’t their husbands.  I had to get out of there and when I turned eighteen I did.  And been rocking and rolling ever since.  I embarrass them, and I really don't care.  They embarrass me.”

Joshua was struck to the core by her honesty, the edge of bitterness in her voice, a bitterness he'd always refused to allow himself to feel.  “I’m sorry,” he said, making up his mind to come clean.  “And I’m sorry I lied to you.  About everything.  And, well, friends don’t lie to each other, do they?”

Sirena cocked an eyebrow.  “No, they shouldn’t, should they.   True friends are honest with each other.  That’s how you can tell who a real friend is, right?  So, are you saying you _didn’t_ have the picture-perfect Midwestern corn-fed upbringing out there in Iowa?”

“No,” Joshua sighed, and told her the truth about his family, and then how music had been his escape for as long as he could remember.  How at age nine he'd picked up an uncle's old guitar and found his natural gift.  How he'd worked endless hours after school mucking barns, baling hay, building fence to earn the Gibson on display in a local pawn shop window.  How at fifteen he'd put in another two years or so to buy the Camaro from the farmer's son and another two years to fix it up.  How these had become his escape - first figuratively, then literally -  all the way out to California.  When he finished, he looked at her and though her eyes expressed a mix of sadness, sympathy and understanding, she was smiling.

“That’s better.  That is something I can work with.”  And suddenly she leaned over and very gently touched her lips against his.

When Joshua opened his eyes, hers were fluttering open too.  “Did you mind that?” Sirena asked softly.

“Are you kidding?” Joshua said shakily.  Bolts of electricity were still zinging through his body, which ached for more than a kiss right about then. 

Sirena laughed softly and gave his hand a gentle squeeze.  "I think we better get back to the studio before they send a search party after us.”

Joshua silently nodded, still shaking with the effect of the kiss, of the entire day which wasn’t even over yet. Together they stood, and, hand in hand, went back to his waiting Camaro, Joshua pausing to put the McDonalds bag in the trash bin by the car.  Sirena drove again which was probably a good thing – Joshua was still in a heightened state of euphoria and wouldn’t have trusted his senses enough to drive.

“There’s one thing I want to do before we get back to work, that is, if you’d agree,” Sirena stated as they pulled into Sweetfire Studios parking lot.  She put the Camaro in Park and turned off the engine.  Handing him the keys, she said, “I guess you should know I’m a practicing Witch.  A Wiccan, to be precise.  I want to help you a little before we start recording again.  Will you let me?”

Joshua remembered the witchcraft book he’d spied in the sound booth, and Landry’s words about her satchel and the things it contained. “How?” he asked hesitantly.

“You’ll see.”  Sirena took his hand again as they walked into the studio lobby.  “I promise it’s harmless, and in fact you’ll feel fantastic when we’re done.”


	4. Chapter 4

Landry paced the mixing room impatiently, silently fuming.  Sirena and the little greaser had returned from wherever they’d gone, and without a word or glance at him had gone into Sirena’s recording booth, shutting the door behind them.  Landry scowled.  They’d been in there for almost a half hour.   Who did Sirena Welsh think she was, anyway?  Who did she think she was fucking with?   He’d about had enough of her. 

Yeah.  Right. 

Just as he had made up his mind to stride down the hall and bang on the recording booth door, footsteps echoed, stopping when Sirena stuck her head in the room.  “Where’s Edward?” she asked him, looking at the empty sound board.  “Tell him we’re ready to start.”

Landry’s scowl deepened.  She was giving _him_ orders?  He opened his mouth to make a cutting reply, but she was gone as quickly as she’d appeared. 

 

Joshua sat, fingers poised over his Gibson’s strings, his old friend, the guitar he’d learned everything that had taken him from the back porch of the crowded trailer he’d once called home to a recording studio in Los Angeles.  How many nights he’d sat with this guitar in his lap, practicing until his fingers were bleeding, his mother and younger siblings stepping outside to listen occasionally. 

“You’ll go places if you keep it up, Josh,” his mother would tell her eldest son.  She’d look around their tiny yard, at the trailer with its weather-worn metal façade, the only home Joshua really had known.  The house Mark moved them into the year they married was just...a building.  “So keep it up," his mother told Joshua. "It’s your ticket out of here.”

Indeed.  But even with those encouraging words, Joshua suspected his mother never would believe where he was now.  He supposed he should call, or at least write.  Yeah, he would.

His mind was remarkably calm and clear.  Whatever Sirena had done to him – he wasn’t quite sure what it was, but he felt the unfamiliar weight of the stone charm she’d told him to wear and smiled to himself.  After placing the black stone pendant– she’d called it Hematite -  on a chain and fastening it around his neck, then running her hands over him from head to toe – that experience made him nearly faint and he had more than a little difficulty clearing his mind as she’d instructed.  All he could see in the booth, scented with sandalwood incense and lit only by the flame of a black candle (black absorbed negative energy, she told him) was the face of a goddess, the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen.

“Focus, Joshua –“Sirena probably could see right through him and where his mind was going.

“I am.  I’m trying.”

“Okay.  Now repeat these words, and mean them.  Really mean them.  Hold your hands out to your sides, palms up – yes.  Now repeat after me.

_‘I am Intelligent and can succeed in all that I wish_   
_I will play clearly, I will think calmly,_   
_I will focus only on the positive in all things around me today_   
_I will not be shaken_   
_I have talent and can succeed in all that I wish.’”_

Joshua repeated each verse after her, his voice growing in strength and assurance with each line.  Suddenly Landry and his insults no longer mattered.  The fact that he’d blown several takes that morning no longer existed.  He was Joshua Tremont, he was an accomplished singer, songwriter, and guitarist, he was recording an album with Sirena Welsh, they were friends, and he was going to make this session a success.

Edward Sweet’s voice echoed into the recording booth.  “Ready, Joshua?”

Joshua adjusted the guitar pick between his fingers and looked at the sheet music in front of him.  “Yeah.”

“Okay, and roll!”

The recording light turned on.

And Joshua Tremont began to play some of the best guitar of his life. 

**********

Two weeks later, the phone in his hand shook a little as, after the fourth ring, she picked up and said hello.

“Hi mom,” Joshua said, feeling a foolish sense of nervousness.  He adjusted the phone in his hand.  “It’s me, Joshua.”

“I knew it was you,” his mother spoke in a queerly hesitant tone.  A sort of dread passed through him.  Maybe it had been too long.  Maybe she’d just turn her back on him, hang up the phone.  He wondered why it would matter.  Hadn’t he done just that himself, by taking off to California?

Instead, Janice Tremont – Janice _Bannerman_ , he corrected himself – sighed and said, “How are things going?”  Still with that apprehension in her voice.

“I’m good, mom.  Working.”

“Making music?”

Joshua smiled.  “Yeah.  Of course it’s not my fulltime job, you know, that takes a while, breaking into the business, but I landed a great session recording with Sirena Welsh. Vocals and guitar.”

“Who’s that?  You know I’m not up on what you kids are listening to these days.”

Joshua nodded at the phone.  “Yeah, I know.  Ask Jessie,” he said, referring to his sister, just eighteen months younger than he.  “She’ll know who she is.”

“Famous, I take it?”  
“Very.”

“Well, good for you!”  Janice’s tone was suddenly so natural, so mildly and lightly pleasant that Joshua almost forgot his first impression.  “Think it will amount to anything?”

Joshua smiled again, a grin of triumph.  He wished she could see it.  “Yeah, mom.  I do.  She really likes my work, and she wants me to tour with her.”

“Huh.  A tour, yet.  What kind of money are we talking?”

Leave it to mom to think bottom line.  “Well, it’s not big money yet,” he said slowly.  “I’m getting union scale for the work on the album.  Then there’s a song I wrote that Sirena and I are going to record together.  If it makes the album I get a royalty.  A certain percentage of every record sold.  That breaks down to –“

“Now Joshua, I flunked math,” Janice sniffed.  “As long as you’re not starving or looking to come back here.”

An uncomfortable sudden silence fell for a moment.  Janice broke it.  “Oh, hell.  I didn’t mean it the way it sounded – it’s just – you’re different from the other kids.  You don’t belong here, Joshua.  You never really did. “

“No, it’s okay, mom.  I get it.  I’m an adult now and I know I don’t belong there.   It’s a dead-end for me in music.  And I’ve been on my own six months out here and I’m doing okay.  Hey, I didn’t call collect, did I?”  He paused, then ventured, “How’s Mark?”  Not that Joshua cared, but he supposed he should at least mention his stepfather.

“He’s fine.  Everyone’s fine.  Jessie has a boyfriend, you might know him.  Lee Alberts.”

Joshua thought a moment.  He remembered Lee from high school, a jock, National Honor Society, popular, the whole bit.  Lee was finishing his junior year when Joshua graduated. Jessie, his tough-girl sister who hung out with the stoners, dating the star wide receiver on Burlington’s high school football team?  Wonders never ceased.  “He’s still around, huh?  Thought he left town the second he finished his valedictorian speech.”

“It’s a long-distance thing.  Lee’s in Minneapolis at the U of M.”

“Oh.  Well, how are _you_ , mom?”

“Same.  Back’s been giving me a little hell, but I got Doctor Grimes and my pills when I need them.”

Joshua grimaced, remembering how his mother had been off her job as a nursing assistant for six months after a back injury that never healed right.   Workman’s comp had kicked in, but it barely kept them eating.  Mark Bannerman had stepped into the picture around that time and Joshua still wondered if Janice married him more to keep a roof over her family’s head than for love. 

They spoke a few minutes longer.  Joshua told his mother about his roommates and his day jobs.  Janice mentioned the youngest, Bryce, now four, was beginning preschool.  And Mark was talking about putting an addition on the house next year.  “That’s great mom, really great,” Joshua said, happy that things seemed to be going a little better for his mother and siblings.  “Tell Jess to give me a call sometime, will you?”

“I sure will.  Take care of yourself out there,” Janice said. 

Joshua felt a sudden, inexplicable tightening in his throat and a bizarre, sudden rush of homesickness.  “Bye, mom.”

It was the last time he ever spoke to her.

****

_Lavender_ was coming along nicely, albeit slower than Landry wanted.  After two weeks they were ready to record the duet.  Sirena insisted they lay down the vocal tracks together, with Joshua playing guitar.   Edward was willing; Landry vehemently argued against it, claiming it would be too difficult to get all the elements right in a single take.  However, once again he was proven wrong.  In two takes, the tracks were laid down without flaw; Edward said he hadn’t seen anything like it in his twenty years in the business. 

“I don’t have to tweak a thing,” he exclaimed as he listened back.  Landry begrudgingly agreed, though said he wasn’t certain it was the type of song suited for the album. 

“Jesus H. Christ, Paul!” Sirena shouted in frustration on their way out of the studio.  Joshua had gone home an hour previously, and she and Landry were alone in the studio parking lot.  “What is it with you about Joshua, anyway?”

“What did I say about _him?_   I said I’m not sure that’s a good song for the album.  It doesn’t fit,” Landry replied as he opened the passenger door to his Bentley.  Sirena slipped inside, glaring at him the entire time.  When he got in and started the engine, he looked at Sirena who was still glaring.  “Look – I know you like the kid.  I admit my first impression of his talent was wrong.  Okay?  He’s all right.”

“He’s better than all right, and you know it.”

“Guys like him doing sessions are a dime a dozen, Sirena.  Come on.”  He reached over and patted her knee and she swatted his hand away.  The bastard was really getting on her nerves.  Why did she have to find herself needing a guy like Paul Landry, anyway?  Talk about a dime a dozen – these record execs were all alike.  She put on her sunglasses as Paul backed up.

“There’s no one like Joshua,” Sirena said suddenly under her breath, so softly Landry barely heard her.  But he did.  The car came to an abrupt halt as he slammed on the brakes.

“You had better not mean what I think you mean by that, Sirena,” Landry’s hand was back on her knee, but this time it was squeezing, hard. 

"Let go of me," Sirena hissed, furiously slapping his hand off her leg. 

Instead, Landry made a grab for her but she had already fumbled for the door handle and flung herself out of the car.

 “Where the hell do you think you’re going?  Get back in the car!” Paul shouted as Sirena began to walk fast.  She ignored him.  _“Sirena!”_ Her purposeful stride turned into a run as she reached the sidewalk and disappeared around a corner. 

Landry sat there for a moment, debating whether he should go after her or not.  What a hellcat she was.  Shaking his head, he laughed to himself and decided to let her go.  Sirena Welsh needed discipline, and he, Paul Landry, was the one who would give it to her.  When he was good and ready.

***

Mike Gruis had the night off and was meeting friends at the beach for a bonfire, some music, and a few beers.  Craig would be coming down later, and would Joshua like to join them?

Ordinarily Joshua skipped these sorts of get-togethers; they weren’t really his scene.  He preferred to stay in, work on his music, and lately, spend time with Sirena after they finished at the studio for the day.  Usually they went for drives or walks in the park, and a time or two they hung out at the beach in a secluded cove where Sirena wouldn’t be spotted.  But Sirena had told him that tonight she needed to meet with Landry and a couple of other fat-cats from Columbia to discuss the tour – the tour she wanted him to go on with her – something he barely allowed himself to believe - and an evening sitting in the little apartment alone just didn’t appeal.  So Joshua impulsively agreed to go to the beach.   Since Mike would likely get rip roaring drunk and/or stoned, he readily accepted Joshua’s offer to drive.

How crazy the last couple of weeks had been!  Joshua was now absolutely certain he was in love with Sirena Welsh; not just the fantasy woman every guy in America lusted after, but Sirena herself.  He knew now that he would feel the same way about her even if she wasn’t drop dead beautiful, even if she wasn’t insanely talented.  He was in love with Sirena, the woman.  And there were times, starting with that first tentative kiss in the park the day they met, that he wondered if Sirena could be falling for _him_.

No.  Impossible.  And yet –

Sometimes Joshua would catch her looking at him, her gaze soft, and then almost – sad.  She was mercurial; she was sweetness and gentle goodness, she was hot-tempered fire and wind.  He loved her so much it was a physical ache. 

Of course none of this escaped the notice of his roommates.  Craig, the eternal optimist, told Joshua he should just tell Sirena how he felt.  “I mean, she’s gotta feel something, right?  You guys are together all the time, man, and hey, when are you gonna introduce me, anyway?”

Joshua looked Craig over.  Six foot two, blonde, tan, blue-eyed.  He sighed.  “I will, sometime, sure.”

***

It was a nice early night, the promise of spring lingering in the air, but Sirena paid no mind to the weather.  She was too busy trying not to be spotted.  Not by the public – though she tried not to go out alone after a few frightening run-ins with over-enthusiastic fans from time to time – but by Paul Landry.  The more distance she put between herself and that man the better.  And she knew what she had to do next. 

Seeking out a pay phone, she spotted one and hurried to it.  Fishing a slip of paper and a quarter from her jeans, she slid down her sunglasses and read the number on the piece of paper.  Then she plugged the coin into the slot and dialed quickly.

“Hello.”

“Uh, hi.  May I speak to Joshua?”

“He ain’t here.  Who’s calling?”

Crushing disappointment filled Sirena.  “Oh.  This is – this is Sirena Welsh.  Joshua is a good friend of mine and I really need to speak to him.  Would you happen to know –“

“Holy shit!” the voice on the other end blurted.  “I mean – oh, uh…Sirena…um, yeah, yeah I know where he is.  He’s at the beach.  We’re – well we’re all going out there for a bonfire and –“

“Is this Mike or Craig?”  Sirena asked.

“Oh wow.  You know my name.  Uh, this is C-Craig,” the voice stammered.

“Craig, I have a huge favor to ask you.  Do you have wheels?  And if you do, could you pick me up and take me to the beach with you, please?  I’d really appreciate it –“

“Oh sure!  Of course!” Craig exclaimed.  “Oh my God, this is so unreal…um, I’m sorry, I just –“

Sirena smiled at the phone.  Sometimes fame did come in handy.  She told him where she was.

“I know where that is.  I’ll be right there.  Don’t go anywhere. I’m on my way.”

“I won’t.  And thanks,” Sirena said, but Craig had already hung up.

 

Joshua was sitting on a slight hill, away from the noisy group and bonfire, plucking absently on the Gibson.  Lyrics were running through his head and he was trying to find the riff he sought.  Pausing to finish his beer, he let his mind drift.

Maybe she was playing at being in love.  Someone with as many facets as she, living in the public eye the last six or so years, probably several lovers along the way – Sirena would know how to pull a man in, make him love her; it would hardly be to her career’s benefit to do otherwise.  Unconsciously he touched the Hematite pendant she'd given him.  He hadn't taken it off since she'd placed it around his neck.

_So what if she’s playing at it?  Is it that you wish she weren’t playing?  For God’s sake J, you’re a nobody! A session player from Iowa.  The fact that Sirena Welsh even speaks to you should thrill you.  The fact you’re doing a record with her and she wants you as her guitarist and backup vocalist on her tour and you’ve been hanging out together should be more than enough for a guy like you, and here you are moping because she isn’t madly in love with you?  Who the fuck do you think you are?_   Joshua chopped out a flurry of barre chords down the neck of the Gibson and swore softly to himself.  He put the guitar down and set off for the water.

Craig drove a little red Volkswagen Beetle.  He pulled into a narrow space between Joshua’s Camaro and a pickup truck.  “Yep, he’s here,” he told his passenger, pointing at the Camaro, and shut off the engine.

“Thanks a lot, Craig.  I really appreciate this,” Sirena told him gratefully.  They got out and strolled down to the beach, Sirena’s eye’s searching the crowd for the familiar lanky form with long waves of rich brown hair. 

“Mike!” Craig called.  A blonde guy turned from the bong he was pulling a hit from, saw who was with his roommate, and promptly choked on the lungful of smoke. 

“Holy shit!” Mike gasped.  “Is that who I think it is?”

“It is,” Craig and Sirena spoke in unison.  Craig, now considerably more at ease with Sirena, flung an arm around her and pointed. “There’s J’s guitar up on that hill.  He’s gotta be around here somewhere.  Hey Mike!  Where the hell did J go?”

Mike stood, a little unsteadily, and looked around.  “Dunno.  Prolly walking the beach by the water.”

The other half dozen party-goers were all staring at Sirena curiously.  A girl spoke up.  “I saw him walk over by the coves a few minutes ago.”  She pointed to her left.

“Hey, thanks,” Sirena said and set off in search of her guitarist.

 

Joshua sensed her before he saw her.  Walking slowly, enjoying the night breeze and smell of sea spray, he felt her sudden presence behind him and turned.

“Hello Joshua,” Sirena smiled as she approached.

“Hi,” Joshua said, feeling a warm rush that wasn’t altogether comfortable.  “I didn’t expect to see you tonight.”

“Yeah.  Well, here I am.”  Sirena said with a little shrug.  “I’m glad I found you.”

“How did you know I was here?” Joshua wanted to know.

“Craig told me, and gave me a ride.  Nice guy.”

Joshua couldn’t help it; he sought to find deeper meaning behind her words, but could not.  “So….you had a meeting tonight?  With Landry and those other guys from Columbia?”

“I don’t want to talk about that.”  Sirena shook her long blonde hair out of her face.  “Can we just go for a walk or something?”

Joshua fought the dread coiling in his stomach.  The meeting must have gone badly – for him, probably.  “Okay,” he simply said.  He took her hand and they walked together, further from the party.  The ocean’s roar filled Joshua’s head, yet was soothing.  And then there was Sirena.  He watched the breeze blow her hair about her face and thought he’d never seen anyone so beautiful in his life.  The moon was out, full and pulsating with light and energy, and Joshua felt his body absorbing it.  Sirena had taught him some of her ways, and he knew the full moon was a powerful thing.  Indeed it was. 

He suddenly felt like tonight was the right time to say all he wanted to tell her.  If he could build up the courage, that is.  Doubts nagged at him, though.  The meeting with Columbia; why she’d come here to the beach; the fact that she was who she was.  And the return of those niggling thoughts that she was just playing at being in love.  He sighed audibly, and Sirena glanced up at him briefly, her expression inquisitive, as if perhaps she was wondering many of the same things he was?  Yeah, right.  A woman like Sirena never had these kinds of insecurities, did she?

Then he remembered the conversation in the park that first day.  “ _I’m on my own and coming to realize that not everyone loves me for me, you know?  Everyone wants something.”_  

They continued walking in companionable silence, each absorbed in thoughts urgent and unspoken.  Joshua cast around in his head for something casual to say.  About the glorious moon, the mild weather, anything – but nothing presented itself.  So they made their way further down the moonlit beach, listening to the surf’s steady whoosh and ebb, the occasional cry of a night bird, the group behind them at the bonfire just a few hundred yards away.  He squeezed her hand and she glanced at him with a small smile.

They scaled a small dune, crossed the flank, and then at the bottom on the other side encountered a washout.  Not a very big one; Joshua knew he could hop across it easily.  And it gave him something to say.

“Careful here,” he said as he jumped the small chasm.  Turning, he grasped Sirena about the waist with both hands, and lifted her across.  She held onto his forearms for balance.  His movement, her instant off the ground, had been quick.  It took Joshua a moment to realize that Sirena’s feet were on the sand again, his hands were still on her waist, and most of all, that she hadn’t let go of his arms.  Did his hands feel the same to her as hers did to him?  Their touch the most important sense, engulfing all others?

A scuttling cloud that briefly had drifted over the moon cleared, and its renewed cool light drew contours across her face.  A single curl fell over her forehead, shining like a shaving of gold.  One hand left her waist to draw the curl back and her dark eyes widened, full of amazement and something like alarm.  But her hands slid from his forearms to his shoulders – slowly, hypnotically.  From there they curled around his neck and nestled in his hair where it fell to his shoulders in windy disarray.  He bent his head and saw her eyes fluttering closed – in submission, in trust, in pleasure or fear - he didn’t know.  But he kissed her, a soft and lingering contact.

When he drew back, Sirena’s eyes were still closed.  “You don’t have to stop, you know,” she said a little breathlessly.

He drew her down to the sand with him and this time she kissed him.  Every motion he made was slow; as if he’d never put his arms around a woman before, never lay with his body pressed so close to another’s.  Their course of passion was summarized with chaste kisses that metamorphosed into something fierce and burning; devouring yet giving in equal measure.  And now, in one another’s arms, neither knew how to let go when the time came.

Sirena lay in Joshua's arms, marveling at how he had somehow become the beacon of life, of light and love and hope in her lonely, complicated world.  She wanted all of him – she _needed_ all of him, and yet – would it be fair? Her life was a mess, and it was a mess only she could extricate herself from.  Bringing Joshua into it would be a disaster for both of them.  The last thing she could handle was another involvement right now.  But her arms tightened reflexively around him, as if in protest of her thoughts and she whispered, “We could have done this before."

Joshua drew back to look down at her.  He smiled and whispered back, “not like this, I don’t think.”

“No, you’re right.  Not like this.  For a cute guy, you’re pretty smart.”

Joshua kissed her in response and drew her tightly against his body.  She hid her face in his hair and he heard her whisper something that may have been his name.

Reluctantly, he remembered his earlier suspicions that Sirena was merely playing at being in love.  Or that he had been indulging in wishful thinking all this time; reading far more into Sirena’s feelings than what actually existed between them.  He didn’t really think so, not anymore.  She had sought him out here at the beach, after all.  For what other reason than this? 

They lay entwined for some time, neither minding the scratchiness of the sand beneath them.  They looked up at the fullness of the white moon, listened to the surf and distant voices at the bonfire.

“So – you never told me what happened at the meeting,” Joshua said hesitantly, because he needed to know.

“Oh – yeah, right.  The meeting didn’t happen,” Sirena told him.  “Paul and I had a – disagreement - and I left the studio.  Called your number and got Craig, and he gave me a ride out here.”

Relief and discomfiture warred in Joshua.  He wasn’t off the tour, at least not yet.  But he was certain her argument with Landry was about him.  The guy hated him, his dislike emanating off his three-piece-suits almost tangibly.   Joshua sighed.  He was nothing up against Paul Landry and he knew it, even with Sirena in his corner.  Landry owned her, with Columbia behind him.  If they refused to let him tour with Sirena, he wouldn’t tour with Sirena.  That was it.  But he hadn’t gotten that “no” as yet, so –

“Want to go back and join your friends?” Sirena asked him suddenly.  He didn’t, but she was already rising to her feet and reaching for him.  He rose beside her and, aiding her across the washout again, they rejoined the party.

Joshua watched Sirena furtively, protectively.  He needn’t have bothered; most of the group were in the business in one capacity or another and had met rock stars several times.  They greeted her with warmth and curiosity, but didn’t mob her.  Joshua fetched his Gibson and relaxed as Sirena accepted a bottle of beer, settling beside him on a blanket.

“Thank you,” she murmured quietly, laying her head on his shoulder.  “I really needed this.”

"Needed what?" He gave the high E-string a quick tune and played an arpeggio.

"A night like this.  A night with you.  A night to feel - whole, and normal, if only for a little while, to be me again."  She gestured around her.  "To be with real people." Sirena looked up at him, her eyes soft and fathomless in their depths.  "Does that make sense?"

"Absolutely it does," Joshua replied.  He kissed her, unmindful of the people around them, and Mike's off-key singing, to the good-natured jeering and laughter of his friends who accompanied him with voice and guitar.   What he said next came out of its own accord, before he could think to stop himself.  "I'd do anything to make you happy."

That sadness crept into Sirena's face again for just a brief second, then was gone.  She caressed his cheek.  "I know you would, Joshua."  She glanced around at the others., and she sat up straight.  "Hey.  Let's show 'em how it's done, shall we?"  The group had moved on from Mike's drunken rendition of Skynyrd's "Tuesday's Gone" to, inexplicably enough, Hank Williams' "Jambalaya".  Cheerfully, Sirena and Joshua joined in, as the surf continued to roar and the moon, a silent, omnipresent audience, shone down on them.


	5. Chapter 5

Sirena gazed out at the passing traffic as Joshua navigated the Camaro through the still-busy streets of Los Angeles.  They'd dropped Mike off and it was a quiet ride, save the radio playing low.  She was sad the evening was over.  As she always did when she was alone with Joshua, she felt a semblence of peace, though mitigated with the knowledge that peace was only temporary.

Sooner or later the worlds would collide.  And nothing good could come of that.

Sirena didn’t know she’d sighed until Joshua glanced at her and asked if she was all right.

“Oh, yeah, just a little tired,” she feigned a yawn.

“Mm.  It is late.”  He slowed, then stopped as the yellow light ahead of them turned red.  “Next left?”

“Yeah,” she said again, and went back to looking out the window.  Joshua had never driven her home before, and she wondered vaguely if it was a good idea for him to do so now.  Well, too late, and two in the morning was not a good time to be flagging a cab or, worse yet, walking home.  So she gave him directions and within fifteen minutes they pulled up in the driveway of a modest ranch home in Westwood.

Joshua put the Camaro in park and looked at Sirena.  She was eyeing him with a glint of amusement.  “Not what you expected?”

“Well, no, actually,” he admitted, looking at the house.  “Is it yours?”

“No.  It – it’s a rental.” She was sure Joshua detected the slightest hesitation in her voice, but if he did, he said nothing.  She looked down at her hands, folded in her lap, and made a decision.  “I’d ask you to come in, but I’m afraid you might say no.  And maybe you should say no.  But –“her eyes were again on his, full of banked fire – “I want you to stay.”

Joshua drew in a sharp breath and was silent for a long moment.  “Okay,” he answered quietly.  He shut off the engine.

“Wait.  Park in the garage,” she told him, and got out of the car.  Pressing a series of buttons on a keypad, the garage door slowly yawned opened.  It was empty inside.  Joshua started the Camaro, pulled in and the door closed behind it.

*****

They came together urgently, their lovemaking all-encompassing and wholly intense.  There was none of the uncertainty that was natural for new lovers.  Each was intent on pleasing each other and themselves and when it was over, they slept; he, a deep sated slumber and she, fitfully through odd dreams and startled awakenings.  Sirena lay in Joshua’s arms, awake and staring at the ceiling as dawn crept into the window and she wondered what on earth she was going to do now.

 _Dear God, Dear Goddess, please hear me,_ she prayed silently.  _Tell me what to do.  I love him.  I know I love him.  Please help me find a way to save it, to save us – I can’t let him go! And yet – if I don’t –_

Joshua stirred, as if hearing her thoughts.  His arm around her waist tightened as if in protection against that which threatened both of them, only he had no idea.  He was innocent.  And, Sirena vowed, he had to stay innocent.  No matter what.

****

It was the end of March. _Lavender_ was running far over schedule and Paul Landry was in a fury.  What was supposed to take three weeks was well into its sixth, and Columbia was not happy.  Extra studio time cost extra money, and took Landry away from other projects with established artists.  Tom Petty was livid that work on his album was being delayed due to Landry’s attention on Sirena Welsh’s project, who was growing more difficult by the day, it seemed.  Mostly over that ridiculous demo she and her little session guitarist had recorded, and the outrageous idea that this untested, unseasoned boyfriend of hers should embark on tour with her. 

Boyfriend?  What a joke.

 _But she wouldn’t let that happen,_ he thought one evening as he sat in the mixing room, going over the linear notes that would adorn the inside sleeve of _Lavender._ He looked at Joshua Tremont’s name; credited with lead guitar and vocals on this cut, acoustic guitar and vocals on that cut.  His name was all over the damned thing.

 _She wouldn’t fuck this kid, would she?_   Landry was beginning to wonder.  He’d seen them close – too close.  Holding hands, laughing, sharing jokes that made no sense to anyone but themselves.  Where were they now?  It occurred to Landry he hadn’t seen either of them in a half an hour.  He jumped up and left the mixing room.

Landry crept silently down the hall, peering in each recording booth as he passed it.  Nothing.  He entered the lobby and asked that vapid blonde, Susan something, where they’d gone.  She gestured vaguely at the front door.  Striding to the door and peering out at the dimly lit parking lot, he looked around and found them sitting on the hood of the kid’s Camaro, their heads bent over a book together.  Innocent enough, he supposed.  He started to turn. 

Just then he saw Joshua’s hand reach across to caress her face.  Sirena looked up at him and he captured those ripe, pink lips in a kiss.

 _That sonofabitch_ is _sleeping with her_. Landry knew it for sure now.  He swore under his breath as he strode back through the lobby.  _Well, kid, enjoy it while it lasts._

Furious, he drove to his home in Bel Air and his waiting wife, Anna.  An attractive, well-groomed woman of thirty-nine, Anna was five years older than her husband.   Her eyes were a pale blue, her hair jet black.  A devout Catholic who occupied her time with church and charity endeavors, Anna was the perfect Hollywood hostess, the perfect Hollywood wife.  She also bored the living shit out of Landry. 

“Paul!  Where have you been?  We were going _out_ tonight for dinner,” she reminded him.  “Or don’t you remember?  Brenda Grayson is having a party, and you’re late.  Dinner was at 8:30 sharp.” 

“Call her.  Tell the old broad we can’t make it.”

Anna frowned.  “I can’t do that.  How would it look?  And Brenda is not an old broad.  She’s a respected actress going back decades, and does wonderful charity work.  And we’ve canceled _so_ many engagements lately, Paul.  People will start to talk –“ her voice dropped low and was laced with an accusatory tone as she added,  "They already do, you know."

“I don’t give a damn.”  He strode to the mahogany bar and poured himself a cognac, his scowl forbidding.  “Tell her you got the rag on, a headache, whatever.  Or better yet, go by yourself.  I’m staying in.”

Anna’s eyes narrowed.  “I can’t do that and you know it.”  She decided to try a different tactic.  Gliding around the bar, she slid his suit jacket off and began to massage his shoulders.  “So tense, darling.  All right.  I’ll call and plead a dreadful migraine and we can spend a quiet evening here.”  She turned him around to face her.  “It _has_ been quite a while since we’ve – ah – had an evening together, you know.”

Paul Landry glanced over his wife, dressed in a soft peach caftan, her perfectly done raven hair, perfectly done makeup, perfectly preserved body.  At thirty-nine she still outshined most of the women in this town, except maybe one that sprang immediately to his mind – and his loins.  Beautiful as she was, fucking Anna was about as exciting as fucking a wooden board.  But, what the hell.  A small smile twitched at the corner of his lips as he sipped his cognac.  “Tell you what.  Get upstairs, get naked, and we’ll make a late appearance at that old bag’s party.”

Anna’s blue eyes gleamed triumph.  “Of course, dear.”

***

“I don’t understand,” Joshua said quietly.  He sat stiffly in his chair, trying to conceal his disappointment and not doing a very good job.  “Edward said he hadn’t heard anything like it in twenty years –“he gestured at the recording engineer keeping vigil at his mixing board while Sirena worked on the back-track vocals on the final song of the album.

“No one gives a damn about that crap except Eddie.  The people buying records don’t know what goes into making records,” Landry explained with more than a touch of condescension.  “Look, kid.  Nothing personal, really.  It’s just not a fit for this record.  Sirena might decide to put it on her follow-up album, who knows?” 

Edward looked away from the mixing board at Joshua and shrugged.  “It happens.  Not every great song gets heard, Joshua.”  He pushed his wire-rim glasses up and behind them, his eyes were sympathetic.  “I really do think it’s a great song.  Just maybe not the right time for it.”

Joshua sighed as he entered the men’s room a few minutes later, reminding himself that when he took on this gig, the demo was nowhere on his radar.  It was a simple song he’d written and recorded, a song that happened to get the notice of Peter Frampton, and later, Sirena Welsh.  And now it was _their_ song.

But they’d both been so excited, and so sure of the recording, so it was hard to go back to the mindset that he should appreciate what he had been given in just the opportunity to do this album.  And he’d been given far more than that; far more than he’d ever dreamed.

Sirena had told him she loved him last night.  They’d made love, and she told him, breathlessly, intensely.  And he thought he’d never been so happy as he fervently kissed her and told her he loved her too.

 ****

“I told the kid,” Landry informed Sirena after Joshua had left.  “The song is axed.”

“How did he take it?”

“About as well as you’d expect.”  Landry walked with her down the hall.

"I didn’t want to be the one to do it,” Sirena said, sounding defeated.  “This is hard enough as it is."

“Well, that’s your own fault, Sirena,” Landry told her.  His voice took on an edge as he continued, “You got in way over your head.” 

Something in Landry's tone made her stop suddenly.  "With Joshua, or with you, Paul?"

Landry laughed, a sound devoid of humor.  “You’re entirely too idealistic, my dear.  And entirely too easy to read.  You’ve been sleeping with that boy for some time now.”

“I-“

“Yes, you have.  And we had a deal, didn’t we?” His voice was deceptively gentle, belieing the venom in his steely gray eyes.

“Yes, and as I see it, you didn’t live up to your end, either,” Sirena snapped.  “Where’s the divorce?  Huh? Well, I can tell you where it is.  It's right after I tell Anna where you’ve been spending the last few months behind her back and -“

Landry seized Sirena by the hair suddenly and she gave a little shriek.  “You just try that, missy.  And see how fast your boyfriend’s pretty little car has its brakes cut.  I bet he likes to drive fast, huh?  Imagine it.  Speeding up the Pacific Coast freeway, and then...  _Imagine it_ , _why don’t you?”_ He twisted her hair tighter in his iron grasp.  “Don’t you ever. Threaten me. Again.” He released her with a shove and she fell to the floor, gasping.  “Tonight, Sirena.  It ends tonight.” He stood over her, powerful, menacing.  “You’ve had your fun with the kid, now end it.”

“No –“   She stood and faced him.  “ _No!_ ” 

Landry shouted, "You’re _mine_ , Sirena!  Does he know that?  _Does he?_ Don’t you think he needs to know he’s not the only bee buzzing around his little flower?  Does he know that just the other night you were on your knees sucking my -”

“No!”  Sirena and Joshua screamed the word in unison.  Sirena whirled and saw him standing there at the men's room entrance, white and trembling.

“Joshua –“she choked out.

“Is it true?” he whispered, his eyes, huge with horror and disbelief, flitting between Sirena and the producer.  “Is it true?” he repeated, his voice rising.  _“Is it true? IS IT FUCKING TRUE?!”_ He was now screaming.

“Yes,” Sirena felt frozen.  “Joshua – I’m so sorry –“the pain etched across his face was unbearable to look at.  His palpable hurt, and a new emotion she’d never witnessed in this gentle, peaceful man she loved.  It twisted his face into something almost unrecognizable and sick looking, as shock, revulsion, and agony coalesced.  It frightened her.  She couldn’t look at him, but she felt his eyes bore into her, her festering foul secret exposed at last.  One of them, anyway. 

Landry watched this tableau before him, silent, sneering, seemingly content to witness this scene play itself out. 

“Oh, my God,” Joshua’s voice dropped again to a hoarse whisper.  “Oh, my God.”  Slowly, he turned and walked away, then with a sound very much like a sob, he broke into a run.

Edward Sweet came around the corner behind Landry as Joshua shoved open the lobby doors at the other end and disappeared.  "What the hell is going on out here?" he demanded.

Sirena turned to her producer, ignoring Edward. Her face a mask of rage, tears spilling from her eyes, she hissed,  “I _will_ tell your wife, Paul, and you can’t stop me. You can’t threaten my career if I destroy it myself, can you?  So take your contract, take your record company, take my album, take my tour, take this whole fucked up business, and _shove it up your ass!_ ”  She punctuated the final word with a resounding slap to his face.  Then she whirled and ran after Joshua, crying his name, drowning in guilt and terror.  She had to find him, try to explain -

“Sirena!” Paul yelled as he ran after her, rubbing his stinging cheek.  “You stupid bitch, _come back here!”_

***

His Camaro was gone by the time she reached the parking lot.  Fresh black tracks from the parking lot to the street told her he’d taken off fast.  Very fast.

 _Please keep him safe until I find him_ , Sirena prayed, remembering Landry’s threats.  _Oh God and Goddess, please –_

He’d turned left.  She started for the street, her running steps taking on an edge of panic.  _Please keep him safe_ , she prayed again, desperately.  Tears blurred her vision and she stumbled against Landry's car.

“Bitch!” she felt a powerful arm reach around and grasp her.  Before she could react, he flung her into the Bentley.  Sirena scrambled for the door handle, sick with fear.  Then a sudden burst of pain exploded in her head, taking away her fear, and darkness took away the pain.


	6. Chapter 6

Sirena Welsh paced around her house restlessly.  She’d attempted to put on makeup for something to do, but there was nothing that could conceal the marks Paul Landry had left on her skin.

He wanted her to suffer.  He’d succeeded.

Two weeks had gone by since she’d awoken from unconsciousness, disoriented, her head throbbing.  Paul Landry had stepped from the shadows and politely asked her how she was feeling.

“You – you bastard,” was all she could manage.  She could barely move from her bed.  Her limbs felt like they were filled with lead and her head ached ferociously. 

“Hm.  Bastard.  I’ve never been called _that_ before.”  Landry’s tone was heavy with sarcasm.  “It’s only for your own good, my dear.  Get some rest and I’ll be back later to check on you.”  She barely heard the door close before she drifted off into a deep sleep.

Escape had been impossible then; she was as weak as a newborn kitten.  Days and nights went by before Sirena was able to think clearly.  She suspected as well as knocking her out, he’d drugged her to keep her in a semi-conscious state. Feeling stronger now, Sirena was determined to end Paul Landry’s hold on her.  And talk to Joshua.  The thought of that filled her with hope and trepidation in equal measure.  How he must be feeling! And rightly so.  Sirena’s heart broke when she remembered his look of anguish just before he’d raced from Sweetfire Studios.

She would go and find him.  She would explain to him just how it was with her and Landry.  He had to understand.  He just had to! 

But Landry had had security grates installed on all of the windows.  An elaborate alarm system was in place, as she discovered when she’d tried the door the first time she’d left her bedroom.   She thought Landry would beat her senseless.  Instead, he’d laughed at her dumbfounded look as the alarm screamed and informed her she wasn’t going anywhere.  Not unless he said so.

Instead, he’d installed that goon Giorgio to watch her when he wasn’t around.  She’d hated the bald, bushy-eyebrowed thug from the minute Paul had introduced them when he’d taken over as her producer.  Giorgio looked at her with a lecherous leer whenever Landry’s back was turned, and now he was to be her – what did Landry call him?  Her bodyguard?  Her chauffeur?  The bastard made it sound like he was doing her a favor.  “He’ll take care of your every need when I’m not around, honey,” he’d said magnanimously. 

Goddamn Paul Landry to hell, she thought.  If he thought he could keep her a virtual prisoner in her own home -

Oh, who was she kidding?  It was Paul Landry’s home.  He owned it, and he owned its occupant. 

How had it come to this?  Her naiveté, her blind ambition to make it on her own after Tramp disbanded.  Why hadn’t she listened to Mitch and Lennie, her former bandmates?  They’d said Landry was a snake, not to be trusted.  But he was such a respected name in the business, had taken such a keen interest in her career.  She thought she couldn’t lose.

 Paul Landry – rich, connected, handsome, telling her he’d make her the hottest female rock singer in the world.  Sirena told him what kind of album she wished to make, and he readily agreed.  And she’d fallen for it, just as he knew she would, and fallen into bed with him almost as easily.  He told her his marriage to Anna DeMeir was as good as over.  She’d believed him. 

He did not leave Anna.  Instead, he moved Sirena to Westwood.  Little by little, Landry pulled Sirena tighter into his iron grip of control and abuse.  She’d thought by embarking on a solo career she was taking charge of her future, her life.  How horribly wrong she’d been.

And then Joshua came into her life.  Sweet, sensitive, talented, beautiful Joshua.  She’d fallen for him, and fallen hard.   Suddenly, the album and her career meant nothing.  Landry and his supposed divorce meant nothing.  She wanted away from him.  As she’d told him at the studio, he could take her career and shove it.  Fuck the album.  Fuck the whole miserable business.  She wanted out. 

But Landry refused to let her go.   And here she was, literally under lock and key.

He told her he’d kill her if she crossed him.

He told her he’d kill Joshua.

And Sirena knew he was more than capable of making good on his threats. 

***

She remembered the first time he’d hit her, the day after the bonfire at the beach.  He’d strode into the house the next afternoon while Sirena was toweling herself after a shower.  He’d flung open the bedroom door, making her jump.  He’d told her he would be busy at one of his wife’s charity events all evening and flying to Las Vegas this morning.  What was he doing here?

“You blew the meeting yesterday.  Where were you last night?” He’d demanded without preamble.

“Out,” Sirena had replied indignantly.  She had no intention of answering to Paul Landry.  And how the hell did he know she’d gone out after she’d left the studio, anyway?  Was he having her followed?  Dear God, Joshua had spent the night last night!  A tight knot of fear coiled in her stomach.

“Where?” Landry repeated, his voice lowering to a deadly whisper.  He began to advance on her, and she backed up warily, wrapping the towel tightly around her body.  She didn’t like the look in his cold gray eyes. 

“Just out, Paul.  I do have a life, you know –“

His slap rocked her head back against the wall behind her.  Shocked and outraged, she hissed, “you sonofa-“

His second slap stopped her.  Landry’s voice was calm when he spoke.  “Don’t you ever play games with me, Sirena.  Columbia wasn’t happy you blew off the meeting about the tour – the tour I’ve been pulling every string I could to arrange for you.  A little appreciation is called for here – unless you want your career to tank, and without me it will.” 

“Maybe that’s what I want, you prick,” Sirena said in a low, furious voice.  “To be away from you.  Did you ever think of that?”

“When _I s_ ay you’re out, _then_ you’re out.  Only don’t expect that anytime soon, honeybunch.”  With that, Landry gave her a chilling smile, turned, and left the house without another word.

*** 

Landry showed up late that afternoon.  Dismissing Giorgio, he grinned at Sirena expansively.  “Get dressed, doll.  Get yourself fixed up.  You got press today.”

Was he crazy?  She looked a mess.   Her lip was swollen, a bruise decorated one cheek.  Her arms were marked up where he’d grabbed her.  She couldn’t be seen in public.  But Landry’s tone bore no room for argument.  She ran to her bedroom and frantically rummaged through her cosmetics to find something to cover up the damage.  It was a bit of freedom, at least.  And perhaps if she were very lucky, a chance to escape. 

***

Craig Stevens was frustrated.  Frustrated, and fed up. 

Joshua had been almost uncommunicative since that day he’d discovered the truth about Sirena and Paul Landry.  He’d told his roommates the story in broken fragments, and then sank into a silent, black depression, spending his days laying on the couch staring at the television.  He did not go to the studio to collect his things.  He did not go to work at his two part time jobs.  He ate a little, and slept.  His waking hours were spent there on the couch like a stone. 

Two weeks had passed and Craig had decided enough was enough.  It was time for Joshua to get up and get back to living.  Entering the apartment after a day of sessioning at Sweetfire,  he set the envelope on the tiny kitchen table.  Entering the living room, he unslung the guitar case on his back and rested it against the couch at Joshua’s feet.  The news he had would be the catalyst to get Joshua moving again - if only Joshua would listen to him.

“Hey, J.  I brought your guitar from the studio.”

Silence.  Joshua didn’t even blink.

“J, come on, man.  When are you going to get back to the land of the living, huh?”

More silence.

“J, come on, man.  Talk to me.”

Joshua’s eyes finally shifted from the TV to the guitar case at the end of the couch.  Sliding one foot forward, he kicked the Gibson over onto the floor.  A hollowed, discordant _thwong_ sound emitted from it.  He shifted his empty gaze back at the TV.

Craig sighed.  “Okay, I guess we have to do this the hard way.” He strode to the TV and shut it off.  Then he came back, grasped Joshua by one arm and forcibly yanked him into a sitting position.

“What the fuck!” Joshua growled.  “Man, why can’t you just leave me alone?”  He wrenched his arm from Craig’s powerful grasp.  His eyes shot daggers, but he remained sitting.  It was the most he’d spoken in days.

Craig sat beside him.  “I just came from the studio.  I talked to Edward Sweet, and he filled me in on some stuff I think you need to know,” Craig told him.

A sharp laugh.  “If it’s about Sirena or that prick Landry, no, Craig. I don’t need to know.”

“Yes, you do.  And you’re going to hear me out.”

And Craig filled Joshua in.

***

After his session, Craig stopped by the mixing room and asked for Joshua’s guitar. 

Understanding crossed Edward’s features.  He pushed his glasses up on the bridge of his nose and nodded.  “Ah, yeah.  How’s the kid doing?”

Craig hesitated.  “Well – he’s okay.  I just thought, y’know, since I was here –“

 “I know all about it, Craig.”

“All about what?”

“Joshua, Sirena, and Paul Landry.” At Craig’s startled look, Edward nodded.  “Yeah.  I was here.  It was ugly, real ugly.”   Edward sighed.  “I was on my way to a meeting just now, but fuck it.  Come on and sit down.”

Once Craig was settled, Edward fetched Joshua’s Gibson in its fading black case where it sat in a corner of the room. He handed it to Craig, then he himself took a seat.

Edward said, “Joshua’s a great guy.  He’s deep, he’s sensitive, and besides, the kid has talent to spare.  I haven’t heard the likes of him in longer than you’ve probably been alive.  But damned if he didn’t get himself into a barrel of shit.  Even before Joshua got involved with Sirena, Landry hated him."

“Why?” Craig set Joshua’s guitar down.

Edward shrugged.  “I couldn’t figure it out myself at first.  That was before I knew what was going on between that bastard Landry and Sirena.  Now that _that_ can of worms busted open, it makes a kind of fucked up sense.”

“Meaning –“

“Meaning, Landry wanted Sirena for himself. He saw Joshua as a threat, and, as it turned out, he was right. Because Sirena fell in love with him.”

“Did she really, though?”  Craig asked, leaning forward.  “How could she really be in love with Joshua, and still be – whatever she is – Landry’s whore?”

“I didn’t say that about Sirena.”

“Well, that’s what it sounds like.  If she loved Joshua, why didn’t she end it with this asshole?  Seems to me she was just playing around with him, you know?”

Edward Sweet gave a short laugh, like a bark.  “You’re just as naïve as poor Joshua, ain’t you.  Son, he could ruin her like that -” Edward snapped his fingers “- and Sirena’s career is her everything.  Or, it was.”  He paused.  “I shouldn’t even be telling you this.”

“What do you mean, it _was_?”

Edward rubbed his face.  “Right after Joshua found out about her and Landry and he took off, she told Landry she was going to tell his wife about their affair and she didn’t care about her contract or her career, the album, the tour that was being arranged.  She made it clear she was done.  With him, with _everything_.  Then she hit him, and went running after Joshua, and Landry went after her.  I don’t know anything beyond that.  Did she ever find him?”

Craig ran a hand through his mop of dirty-blonde hair and pondered this.  “Oh.  Wow.  I guess Joshua doesn’t know about any of that.  No, she didn’t find him.  He hasn’t spoken to her since.”  He shrugged.  “You’d think after what happened, she’d at least try to get in contact, and if nothing else, apologize.”

Edward frowned.  “Yeah.  That is weird, all right.  I mean, I don’t know if you ever saw them together –“

Craig nodded.  “I have, yes. Just once.”

“Then maybe you know.  I saw them daily and I _do_ know. Those two were crazy for each other.  Sirena wasn’t just playing around, Craig, I promise you that.  I’m actually surprised Landry didn’t figure it out from the start – the rest of us here sure did.  The only thing I can think of is that Landry was so arrogant and so sure of his hold on Sirena that he never thought she’d ever look at another guy but him.”  He snorted derisively.

Craig was silent, and Edward got up and began rummaging around in a file cabinet.

“Edward?”

“Hm?” Edward pulled a small manila envelope out of the drawer and shut it.

“I met Sirena a few weeks ago.  She called, looking for Joshua.  He wasn’t home, he’d gone to the beach.  Some friends were having a party there.  I’d just come home from work when she called.”

“So…”

“So, she called from a pay phone a few blocks from here, and she sounded – I don’t know, uptight and scared, maybe, asking me to come and get her, and that she needed to see Joshua.  Why didn’t she just call from here?  Why did she have to go down to Sunset and use a pay phone?”

Edward sat down in his chair again and looked at the envelope in his hands, turning it over and over.  “I don’t know.”

“He spent that night with her.  At her place.  And he’s spent some more nights with her since then.”  Craig told him.

Edward leaned back in his chair, looking thoughtful.  “Which proves my point, kid.  If Sirena wasn’t serious about him, would that have happened?  She’s world-famous.  I’m telling ya.  She’s not going to take home some guy she’s just messing around with, Craig.  Think about it.”  Craig did, and nodded slowly.

“You know, Landry goes on and on about how she’s unproven as a solo artist but Craig, she made Tramp what it was.  She had a hell of a career in front of her, right?”  He paused.  “I told you.  She stood in the hall out there and told him she didn’t want it.  She went toe to toe with Landry and by God, she said she was gonna tell his _wife_ about their affair.  Not too many people threaten a guy like Landry.”

Edward glanced around as if he expected others to be watching, listening.  “Listen to me and listen well, kid.  Landry doesn’t fuck around.  He’s connected.  Y’get what I’m saying?”  At Craig’s silence, Edward sighed, glanced around again, and lowered his voice to a whisper.  “The D’Amico family in Vegas.  He’s thick as hell with Sonny D’Amico.  He’s married to Anna D’Amico, Sonny’s daughter, for chrissakes!”

Craig sat, stunned.  “Oh, Jesus Christ.”  His voice too was a whisper.  “I had no idea –“

Edward suddenly thrust the manila envelope he was clutching into Craig’s hands.  “I want you to listen to something.” 

“What is it?” Craig asked, looking at it.

“There’s a tape in there.  Joshua recorded a song with Sirena, a song he wrote.  Landry refused to put it on the album.”

Craig’s lips thinned.  “Shocking,” he said sarcastically.  “Is it good?”

Edward’s eyes gleamed.  “Oh, kid, good doesn’t begin to cover it.  And when I say he recorded it with Sirena, I mean they were in the booth together. Joshua played the acoustic, and all I had to do is add the strings, drums and then the lead and bass tracks he cut.  We had it done in under an hour. No auto-tune, no nothing.”

“Wow,” Craig murmured, impressed.  “I definitely will listen to it.” He began to open the envelope, and Edward stopped him.

“No.  Take it home.  Keep it.  Give it to its rightful owner.  It's the master copy, the only copy that exists."

 _“What?”_ Craig was shocked.  “Columbia owns the rights to it, don't they?  Edward, you can’t just –“

“I know I can’t.  But I am.  Joshua will want it.  Maybe not right now, but someday.  He did killer work on this track, Craig."  Edward sighed.  “Man.  Landry would have my balls if he knew I let it out of here.”

“Well, he’s not going to find out from me,” Craig replied as he stood.  Picking up Joshua’s guitar case, he thanked Edward and left the studio, envelope protectively under his arm, deep in thought.

***

“All I’m saying is, call her.  Go by her house and check things out.  Do _something_ for Christ’s sake.”

“What the fuck for? “ Joshua got up and began to pace the small living room.  It was the most animated he’d been in days, Craig thought.  Well, that was something, at least. “It’s over, Craig.  She’s Landry’s girlfriend, a little detail she neglected to tell me, and that’s it.”  He stopped his pacing and whirled to face his roommate.  “Want to know what the best part is?  The night before all this came out – I spent at her house.  We made love – oh, who the fuck am I kidding?  She had sex, _I_ made love, okay?  Anyway, she told me – she told me for the first time that night that she – that she loved me.” Joshua’s chin quivered, tears welled in his eyes and his voice broke.  “Do you know how that makes me feel now, Craig?  I loved her, goddammit, and she turned out to be just another heartless, lying –“

“Stop it!” Craig shouted suddenly.  “Stop and listen!  Did you hear a word I told you about what happened after you left the studio?  She told Landry she was going to tell his _wife_!  Do you know who Landry’s _married_ to?”

“No. What the hell difference does it make?”

“Anna DeMeir.  That’s her name in Hollywood, anyway.  It’s a fake name, a cover.  Her _real_ name is Anna _D’Amico_.”  At Joshua’s blank look, Craig made an exasperated sound.  “Anna D’Amico is the daughter of a major crime boss in Vegas!   Sonny D’Amico is her _father!_ The D’Amico family is the real power behind Paul Landry!  He’s ass-deep in it, Joshua.  His position at Columbia is just a legitimate front, don’t you get it?  If Anna D’Amico finds out her husband is screwing one of the artists he’s producing, Landry’s finished in this town!"  He paused.  "And I'd bet my life that Sirena knows it, too.  That's why she threatened him." 

Joshua stopped his restless pacing and stared at Craig.  “You watch too many stupid crime shows,” he said softly, but his mind was clouding with uncertainty.  “How the hell do you know all this, anyway?”

“Edward knows about it, and he told me.  And, I’ll tell you how else I know.  I worked for the D’Amico family in Vegas before I came out here,” Craig told him.

“You _what_?” Joshua was stunned.  “You told me you worked for your family in Missouri, a rose nursery, something to do with plants –“

“I lied,” Craig said, his voice low.  “I spent two years in Vegas.  I ran errands for the D’Amico organization and their associates.”  He gave a twisted smile.  “Mostly kilos of dope from place to place, and sometimes cash.  I drove them and their friends back and forth to the airport when they’d come into town.  You name it, I did it.  Hey, I was a kid, broke and needing a job.  They gave me one. I earned some trust and I learned a lot.  There's shit going on you wouldn't believe, my friend.  As Sonny D’Amico’s son-in-law, Paul Landry is a definite part of the who’s who.  Christ, J, most of the power movers in this town are dirty..  Trust me on this.  I saw it myself.”

“Holy shit,” Joshua breathed. He stared at Craig as if meeting him for the first time.  “And they let you just – quit?”

“Which one of us watches too many crime shows now?”  Craig said. “It isn’t like _The Godfather_ or something.  I wanted to move on, and I was bid good luck and farewell, got a fat check and came to L.A.  After signing a hell of a non-disclosure agreement, of course, which I’ve just now broken.”  He grinned ruefully. "The fact that these people generally don't introduce themselves by name to a low level go-fer like me helped.  I had no idea who Paul Landry really is until today.  I've never crossed paths with him here in L.A. In Vegas, the few times I saw him, he was just Paul, Anna's husband and Big Daddy's son-in-law."  He paused.  "I didn't ask questions, J.  I just did what I was told."

“Holy shit,” Joshua said again.  It was all he could think of to say. 

What if it were true?  What if….  He returned to the couch and sat down, running his hands through his hair, which had been unwashed and unbrushed in days.  Wincing as his fingers hit a snarl, he said, “This doesn’t prove anything though, Craig.  What you’re suggesting is just – impossible.”  He shook his head.  “Sirena isn’t like some naïve desperate girl trying to break into the business.  She was already a success with Tramp.  She didn’t need a guy like Landry to make her solo career.  You make her sound like some dumb starlet hitting the casting couches and getting sucked in by some sleazeball rich Mafioso promising to make her famous, when she already _is_ famous.  No. She got involved with him for other reasons.”

“Maybe she did, at first.  Maybe she really liked the guy, maybe she didn’t know what he’s mixed up in, maybe he promised her he was going to divorce Anna and marry her, who knows?  I don’t know, but something here stinks and I’ll tell you something else.  If Landry wants Sirena to disappear, she _will_ disappear.” Craig looked very serious.  “And J, I think before you write that woman off you better find out exactly what’s going on.”

“And how am I supposed to do that?”

“First things first.  Call her.  If she doesn’t answer, we’ll go from there.”


	7. Chapter 7

Anna D’Amico, better known to her friends and the Hollywood elite as Anna DeMeir, raised her hand and bid one thousand dollars toward another needy cause.  The auction organizers nodded approvingly and she settled back in her chair, smiling with satisfaction.  Paul wouldn’t be happy, but so what?  It was her money. 

_Sonny’s money, don’t you mean?_

Of course. 

And as his only child, Sonny D’Amico doted on her.  Having a rich and powerful father did have its benefits, and Anna took full advantage of it, even if the source of that benefit was something she preferred not to think about.  Money made her legitimate, made her respected.  Anna had learned that lesson since her days at a Swiss boarding school run by a convent. 

Since childhood Anna had known that her father was a man who had to be careful.  The bodyguards, the elaborate alarm systems installed in his many homes, not being allowed to go anywhere alone, then being shuttled off to Europe for school under the name Anna DeMeir.  On her twenty-fifth birthday her father had given her a million dollars, a home in Bel Air, and a small but thriving interior decorating business.  Anna changed her name legally to Anna DeMeir and did her best to put the D’Amico legacy behind her.  It worked; she was accepted into the social circles of A-list celebrities and studio executives whose homes her firm decorated, she served on the boards of several charities, and was very active in church. 

“When are you gonna get married?” her father would demand whenever she saw him.  “Whaddaya waitin’ for?  I ain’t getting any younger.  I want grandkids, for Chrissake.”

Anna demurred, saying she just hadn’t found anyone interesting enough.  The truth was, Anna simply had no interest in marriage or children.  If she’d had her way, she’d have joined the convent in Switzerland years ago, she thought with a pang of regret.  But she knew her father.  He wouldn’t let up, and by the time Anna reached thirty she knew her days were numbered.

Summoning Anna back to Vegas a month before her thirtieth birthday, her father informed her that he’d found her a husband.

“But papa, I don’t want to get married –“

A harsh slap to the cheek.  Anna clutched her face, stunned.  The lackey lounging in the corner of her father’s penthouse office didn’t even blink.

“You’re getting married whether you like it or not.  An’ I found you the perfect husband.”  Sonny grinned proudly.  He returned to his mammoth desk and fished a half-smoked thin Havana cigar from a crystal ashtray.  The man in the corner leaped up to light it.

“Who?” Anna whispered, still holding her stinging cheek.

“Paul Landry.  You’ll like him.  He’s a good-looking guy, young, ambitious and smart.  He’s a producer. The wedding’s in a few weeks.  Y’got me?”

Anna fought back tears of frustration.  She didn’t care who or what this Paul Landry was, she didn’t want to be forced into marriage.  But she knew she had no choice.  Her father was Sonny D’Amico, and as his daughter, she would do what she was told.

 

***

Landry had gotten his start in Hollywood producing pornographic films with Sonny D’Amico’s money.  He worked hard, all the while longing to be legitimate.  He’d seen an acquaintance of his, Edward Sweet, make it.  A recording engineer, Edward had managed to obtain financing to build a recording studio in Hollywood, and begin to roll out one album after another, many of them best-sellers.  This only fueled Landry’s desire further. A few more and higher budget adult films which received rave reviews, and it finally happened.

Sonny recognized Landry’s ambition and skill in making deals and getting the best out of the talent he worked with.   What’s more, he was hungry.  And he was loyal.

Whatever strings had to be pulled, Sonny D’Amico pulled them and Paul Landry became a producer on the Columbia label, working with several new and established musical artists.  Landry felt he owed the old man a great deal and when Sonny offered Anna D’Amico as his bride, Landry readily said yes.

Paul Landry was thrilled at the prospect of being a D’Amico son-in-law despite the fact that his bride-to-be struck him as a very beautiful and classy but frigid uptight woman five years his senior.  They had absolutely nothing in common.  Well, it wasn’t as though he was marrying for love. 

Anna wasn’t blind.  As much as she knew her father’s gains were mostly ill-gotten, after a few years she was also quite sure her husband’s activities weren’t all on the up-and-up.  His secretiveness drove her mad; as his wife, Paul should share things with her. 

In bed, he horrified her.  She spent her wedding night praying the Rosary to herself as her new husband shoved himself in and out of her tight, resisting body.  Eventually, Anna came to tolerate, then somewhat enjoy the act, though Landry occasionally wanted her to do things she found repellent.   He could be so….crude, and dirty.

Sonny wanted grandchildren, but Anna failed to conceive.  Finally, after a complete battery of tests with a top fertility clinic, it was revealed that Anna could not get pregnant due to a serious hormonal dysfunction, nor carry a child due to a malformed uterus.

She broke the news to her father who was furious, and she threw herself a hundred percent into her charity work, running her interior design business, and throwing elegant, understated parties for Landry’s friends and business associates.

It didn’t matter to Landry in the least.  The last thing he wanted was kids.  He’d gotten what he’d wanted out of marriage to Anna; legitimacy in show business, more money than he could spend, and plenty of power.  He used all three to full advantage.  New cars.  Designer clothes.  Living in Anna’s mansion in Bel Air.  Servants and lackeys to do his every bidding.  All the while demonstrating his unwavering loyalty to the D’Amico family. 

He took the money Sonny D’Amico had given him as a wedding present and invested it.  First into a string of escort services, then the thriving and very lucrative porn industry, the workings of which he was very familiar with. A few hundred thousand in drug-running, and before long the cash was very quietly rolling in, taken by courier to Vegas, and sent back clean as a whistle into a number of business accounts that could not be traced to the Landry or the D’Amico name. 

And Landry soon had a series of beautiful mistresses.  He had to be careful with that, however.  He was quite sure that if Anna caught wind of his activities, she’d run to her father.  And Landry still needed Sonny.  For just a little bit longer.

But there were limits to his subservience.  He was powerful in his own right, wasn’t he?  Fuck Sonny D’Amico.  He was Paul Landry.  He was king of the whole fucking heap in L.A.   He was in his prime and running on all cylinders.  He could do whatever the hell he liked.  Besides, what Anna and her father didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him.  And so the years passed. 

Enter Sirena Welsh.  At twenty-four she was a good ten years younger than he, and the biggest headache he’d ever had to deal with.  She was a different kind of woman than his other mistresses, certainly different from his wife.  Very young, very rebellious, ambitious and passionate.  A free-spirited gypsy.  She’d also refused to fall at his feet as easily as the other women he’d charmed, which thoroughly infuriated and intrigued him. 

Sirena.  Landry knew he would enjoy breaking her.  He enjoyed toying with her, taking advantage of her naiveté, filling her head full of dreams of stardom in her own right after her band split up.   He’d said all the right things, taken her to bed, and moved her into a house he bought for her in Westwood.  She was slowly but surely falling under his control.

He’d paid for studio time so she could cut that stupid fucking record; a record which, if he were honest with himself, wasn’t half bad.  Better than he’d expected, certainly.  It might actually catch.  Columbia would be very happy with him if that happened, and that would only serve to further his legitimate career.  He would be up there with the likes of Clive Davis and Jimmy Iovine – even bigger than they.  Though he certainly didn’t need the money.  Having money was one thing; but having _real_ fame and _real_ respect was priceless.  He was growing weary of being Sonny D’Amico’s lap dog.  Paul Landry wanted it all, and he saw Sirena Welsh as his ticket to getting it.

But then the dumb cunt got herself mixed up with that studio musician, Joshua, and Landry was still burning about it.   She’d actually had the nerve to sleep with the little punk _._ Who did she think she was fucking with?  She was his, and nobody screwed his woman.  Not unless he said so. 

Nobody made a fool out of Paul Landry.  Nobody.

Sirena had to learn that fact the hard way. 

And if Joshua ever crossed his path again, he’d learn, too.

He had begun wondering if it wouldn’t be wiser for Sirena to just disappear.  She knew too much, probably far more than he even realized.  And given half an opportunity, she’d talk.  And if she did, Landry would be finished.  Anna was already suspicious of his activities, though she’d never actually accused him of anything.  Over the years she’d become accustomed to his secretive ways.  “Bring absolutely nothing home,” she warned him.   And he never did. 

***

Craig studied the address written on the piece of paper, then looked at the house again.  It was a single-story ranch house on a block full of carbon copies.  The yard was well-kept, hedges trimmed, rosebushes blooming.  There was nothing that made it stand out, other than the security grates over all the windows.  A rather incongruous touch on a house in this neighborhood, Craig thought as he slowed his Beetle to a crawl.  But then, a celebrity lived in this one.

The house was silent, curtains drawn closed on every one of the barred windows.  No cars in the driveway.   Craig wondered if Sirena was home, and what she was doing at that moment.

The front door opened of the house across the street from Sirena’s, and a middle-aged woman stepped out, a Golden Retriever at her side.  She looked curiously at Craig sitting there in his Beetle, and Craig quickly shifted into first and pulled away from the curb, giving one final glance at Sirena’s house.

***

While Craig Stevens was casing the house in Westwood, Sirena was sitting in a private dining room at Chasen’s talking with a reporter from Rolling Stone Magazine.  Paul Landry was glued to her side, naturally.

Makeup had covered a great deal of the damage to her face, but it was impossible to hide her injuries completely.  The reporter had noticed immediately.  Fidgeting uncomfortably in her chair, she finally mumbled an apology for the way she looked, saying she’d been in a minor fender-bender car accident.  The lie sounded unconvincing, even to herself.  She wanted to scream the truth, but Landry’s cold steel gaze froze the words in her throat.  The bastard was on her case with a vengeance.  He’d warned her all the way to the restaurant what would happen if she talked. 

“You’ll understand, of course, that Sirena would prefer no photographs at this time,” he now murmured politely to the reporter, throwing a pointed look at the photographer Rolling Stone had sent along.    

“Of course,” the reporter replied, and shook his head at the cameraman, who reluctantly put away his equipment.  He picked up his pen and notepad.  “So – tell me about _Lavender_.  What was your greatest inspiration when making the record?”

Sirena sipped her wine and thought a moment.  “Well, I did write most of the songs.  Some I’d written a few years ago, and some are newer.  They draw on different life experiences I’ve had, both good and bad.  I worked with some really incredible people when I made this record and I really owe them everything.”

“And who are some of those people?” the reporter asked, writing on the pad.

Sirena looked quickly at Landry beside her.  Dared she say his name?  Landry returned her glance, giving away nothing.  She said, “Edward Sweet.  He’s the greatest recording engineer I’ve ever worked with.  And…and Joshua Tremont.”  Sirena bit her lip.  “He-well, he did vocals and played guitar on a lot of the album.”  Sirena felt stinging behind her eyes and knew the reporter needed to change the subject fast.  _Please don’t ask me any more about Joshua_ , she begged silently.  _I won’t be able to stand it._

The reporter simply nodded and, blessedly, moved on.  “The tour.  Are you looking forward to it?”

“Oh, of course I am.”  _Because if I have anything to do with it, I have every intention of never coming back_.  “I love performing, I love meeting my fans.”

“Are you still friends with your former bandmates?”

“Oh, absolutely.”  _Not.  Paul Landry made sure of that.  Now they think I’ve gone Hollywood.  And they’re probably right._

“That’s great to hear.  Lots of Tramp fans would love a reunion one day, you know.”

“That would be –“Sirena began.

“- not likely to happen anytime soon,” Landry cut in.  At Sirena’s glare, he gave her his cold, patronizing smile.  “Contractual issues,” he told him. “And Sirena wishes to fully explore her solo career.”

“Yes, of course,” the reporter replied hastily.  “So, tell me.  Behind the scenes, what are the things that motivate Sirena Welsh?  What are some of your likes and dislikes?”

Sirena smiled, even though it made her bruised lip hurt.  She looked around them.  “I like this restaurant.”  She looked down at the empty bowl in front of her.  “I liked this chili.” She looked back at the reporter.  “I like the country, I like the beach.  I love animals, and I love nature.”  _I love Joshua Tremont._ “And I love writing songs.  I love being _inspired_ to write a great song.”

“Hmmm.  And what inspires you?”

“Lots of things.  The things I love – and the people I love.”  _Joshua._

“Just one more question for you, Sirena.  Becoming one of the biggest names in rock today, as part of Tramp and now, in your own right….are you happy?”

What a loaded question, and the poor guy didn’t even know it.  “Sometimes,” Sirena answered pensively.  She felt Landry stiffen beside her.  _Don’t worry, you miserable piece of shit_ , she thought. _I’m not an idiot_.  She said, “I mean, I was with Tramp for six years.  That’s a long time, and we were like family.  It was and is a difficult transition, you know?  It’s scary striking out on your own.   Exciting, but scary.”

The Rolling Stone reporter then wrapped up the interview, with Sirena apologizing again for refusing to have her picture taken.  Both reporter and photographer said they understood, and told Landry they would be in touch soon to do a follow-up interview after _Lavender’s_ release, this time with a photo shoot.

***

 

There’d been absolutely no opportunity to get away from Landry.  He had held her arm firmly from the car to the restaurant and back again, then walked her to her door where Giorgio greeted them.  He'd taken her into her bedroom and kicked the door shut.  Taking off his jacket and loosening his tie, he threw himself on her bed and demanded a blow job.

"What?"  Sirena stared at him.  "Are you fucking kidding me?"

He was up from the bed in a flash.  Slapping and shoving.

Sirena fought back.  "Get the fuck away from me, you bastard!"

The gold pinky ring on Landry's right hand sliced open her already swollen lip.  Bleeding, she screamed, _"_ you cocksucking _asshole!_ _I hate_ _you!"_ She dashed to her bathroom and wadded up some tissue, pressing it against her lip.

Landry followed her.  "Such language," he complained mildly.  "Why do  you always have to give me such a hard time?"  He caught a glimpse of himself in the bathroom mirror.  Picking up a comb, he groomed his hair, gave her a jovial smile, and said, "I have a better idea.  Get your clothes off, sweetheart."

Sweetheart.  He'd actually called her sweetheart after beating her.  She looked in his flat gray eyes and knew she had no choice unless she wanted more of the same.  Unhappily, Sirena disrobed and he took her there in the bathroom, bent over the vanity.  Blood from her cut lip dripped steadily into the white marble sink. 

 _I hate you_ , she thought venomously as Landry thrust into her roughly.  _I hate you._   But she hated herself most of all.

One day, she vowed, when neither he nor Giorgio was paying attention, she’d get away.  All she had to do is play along, she decided.  She would convince him she’d accepted her fate.  One day he would let his guard down.  Then, just one moment, one right moment was all she’d need and she’d be gone.

To where?  Where could she go that Landry and his thugs couldn’t find her?  She was famous, recognized everywhere she went.  How the hell could she go into hiding?  And could she stand to live that way, looking over her shoulder all the time?  And even if she could find a safe place, even if Landry let her be, would the world allow her to go back to being a normal person?

She didn’t know, but she had to try.  Anything was better than the life she was being forced to live now.  She hadn’t been doing her little rituals, she hadn’t cast a circle, and she hadn’t gazed up at the full moon and let the Lady’s presence fill her with the magic she knew she possessed.  And if there was any time in her life that she needed that connection with the God and Goddess, it was now.

 

Landry had left, and Giorgio was out in the living room watching television.   Sirena sat on the floor of her bedroom, staring at the cards laid out in front of her.  She’d done a Tarot reading, even though she wasn’t very good at any kind of divination on herself.

 _How can I escape Paul Landry?_ She’d asked the cards.

She drew three cards and stared at them.

Nine of Swords.

The Tower.

And the Nine of Cups.

“No,” she whispered, fear clutching her heart and squeezing it.  “Oh, please, _no…_.”

 

***

Joshua had tried calling Sirena three times.  The first two times there was no answer.  The third time an unfamiliar male voice picked up and uttered a gruff, “Yeah?”  Not Landry.  For a moment Joshua thought he’d dialed the wrong number.

“May I speak to Sirena Welsh, please?”

The voice growled, “Who wants her?”

“This is a friend of hers. J-“

“She ain’t here,” the voice said abruptly, and cut the connection.

So, now what? 

That question was answered later that day.  Craig had talked Joshua into giving him her address.  “I think I better go alone, though,” he'd said.  “If Landry’s there and spots me checking out the place, that’s one thing.  I doubt like hell he'd remember me from Vegas.  If he spots _you_ checking out the place, that’s bad news.”

Joshua saw his point, and wrote Sirena’s address down and gave it to his roommate.  “Don’t do anything stupid,” he said.  “If Landry’s who you say he is –“

“Right.  I’ll let you know what I find out.”

Craig returned later that day and told Joshua he’d seen nothing.  The place looked empty.  “But man, I don’t know how she can stand living there with those grates over all the windows – it’s gotta be like being in jail or something –“he saw Joshua’s puzzled expression and stopped.  “What?”

“What grates on the windows?”  Joshua frowned.  “There aren’t grates on the windows.”

“Man, are you kidding?  Every fuckin’ window has them.  You know what I mean, like you see on the stores and first-floor apartments around here,” Craig told him.  “You mean – they weren’t there when you were at her place?”

“No,” Joshua answered.  “You sure you had the right house?”

“Yeah, man, positive!  And I’m tellin’ you, J, the place is covered with them!”

“What the hell….” Joshua mused as he sat in one of the kitchen chairs.  He looked up at Craig.  “It was Landry.  He put them up.  But _why_?  In a neighborhood like hers, it’s not like, crime city over there.”

“Maybe those bars aren't supposed to keep someone from getting in, J.  Maybe they’re to keep someone from getting _out_.”

Joshua felt the first fluttering of fear since their conversation after Craig had come from the studio.  Not for himself – but for Sirena.  “Oh, man,” he muttered as the implications sank in.  “Oh, shit, Craig.”  His eyes were very wide as he looked up at his friend.  “I have to help her.”

Craig looked at him solemnly.  “Remember what I told you.  Landry doesn’t fuck around, J.  He plays with the big boys, and he’s way above the law.  I’ve seen the D’Amico family get out of indictments like you wouldn’t believe.  They have the cops, the FBI, hell, probably the President on their payroll.”

“I know.  But I still have to help her.”

“How do you plan to do that?”

“I don’t know yet.”  Joshua’s eyes grew very dark and, as Craig watched, they filled up with a dangerous resolve.  “But you better believe I will find a way.”

Craig sighed.   “You don’t know these people, J.  I’ll do what I can to help, but this is some serious shit, my friend.”

“I don’t want you involved.”  Joshua shook his head.  “D’Amico will suspect you violated your non-disclosure if this gets back to him.”  His mouth thinned into a grim line.  “I’ll get her away from Landry myself.”

“Like hell you will!”

“Watch me.”   Joshua turned and went to his bedroom.  He emerged a moment later, and what he held in his hand made Craig stare at him, mouth agape.

“What the fuck – J, since when do you carry?”  The gun looked ridiculous in Joshua’s hand, and even more ridiculous when Joshua tucked in in the waistband of his jeans.

Joshua smiled a bitter smile.  “My dad taught me to shoot when I was a little kid.  It’s the one thing I remember him doing with me, taking me out target shooting.”  He laughed a little.  “And now he’s doing time for murder.”

“Yeah, well, I don’t want you doing time along with him,” Craig said.  “And I’m positive Landry carries a piece.  And he has associates that carry.  And behind all them is you-know-who.”

“I know.  Anyway, I don’t plan to kill anyone,” Joshua said, pulling his t-shirt over the butt of the gun.  He started for the door, and Craig laid a hand on his arm. 

“Great.  As long as you don’t plan to get yourself killed, either," Craig said, not knowing that those words would come back to haunt him in the very near future.

“I’ll see you soon.  With Sirena,” Joshua told him, and left the apartment. 


	8. Chapter 8

Immediately after Joshua left, Craig began pacing around the apartment. What had he been thinking? Letting Joshua leave the house with a gun had been sheer madness.  Craig swore at himself.  Joshua had no idea what he was getting himself into.   Joshua was a mild-mannered, innocent, and very non-violent person. Paul Landry would chew him up and spit him out without a second thought.  And even if Joshua somehow got Sirena out of there, where the hell could they go?  If there was one thing Craig knew from his time in Vegas it was the mob’s nose for retribution.   With the kind of money and the kind of power the D’Amico family, and by association Paul Landry, wielded, there was nowhere on earth Joshua and Sirena could go that Landry wouldn’t find them.

Yes.  Letting him go hell-bent and half-cocked on this rescue mission, and alone at that, was insane.  Craig grabbed his car keys and started for the door.  Just as he opened it, Mike was coming in and the two of them collided.

“Jesus!” they exclaimed simultaneously.  Mike looked curiously at his roommate.  “What’s going on?” he said, taking in Craig’s anxious, worried expression.

Mike.  Thank God.  Here was the answer.  “Are you sober?” Craig demanded.  “Please tell me you’re straight.”

“Relatively,” Mike replied, and repeated, “What’s going on?”

Craig had warned Joshua not to say a word to Mike about what he’d told him, as Mike had a tendency to get high and blab everything and anything to anyone who’d listen, but now Craig knew he had no choice.  Besides being a terrific drummer, Mike was built like a blonde ox.  He was great in a fight, with very effective techniques he’d learned working occasionally as a bouncer in a nearby club which was known for its many brawls.  Not the brightest bulb on the tree, but Mike’s raw strength and skill more than made up for it.  Craig knew there was no way he was going to be able to stop Joshua from trying to rescue Sirena.  But with Mike’s assistance, perhaps Joshua had a chance after all.

So Craig sat Mike down and laid out the situation, talking fast.  Mike sat, at first in disbelief, then mutely digesting the information.  “You know,” he mused, “dontcha think at this point it might be a good idea to let this Landry guy's wife in on what's going on?  Or call the cops?”

Craig shook his head.  “No.  Too dangerous.  Not until Sirena’s away from him.  If Landry thinks he’s been cornered, there’s no telling what he’ll do.  And who knows who is on his payroll?  No police.  We’ve got to do this ourselves.”

Mike sighed.  “Okay, so what’s our play, then?”

“First things first.  You need to get your ass over to Sirena’s house and find J.  Keep him from doing anything crazy.  He’s determined to get Sirena out of there, and there’s only one way I can think of that he can do it, and he can’t do it alone.”

“Go on,” Mike encouraged eagerly.  He was involved now, and gripped with the entire situation.  He loved Joshua like a brother.   Mobster or not, anyone who fucked with J would answer to Mike Gruis.  And guys who treated women like shit needed a lesson.   No matter _who_ they were.

“J needs to get a message to Sirena, so she knows what’s happening.  Landry’s probably there or else has one of his goons staying there to keep an eye on her, so we have to find out who’s in the house first.  Then if there is someone else there, we create a diversion at the front door or something.  You know what I mean.  We keep the guy busy, and she gets out the back with J,” Craig said, speaking low and fast.  

“ _We_?” Mike said.  “You said J doesn’t want you getting mixed up in this because of this D’Amico dude.”

“He doesn’t.  But tough shit.  You guys might need my help if something goes wrong. So  I’m going with you.”

\----

Sirena’s street was quiet, save the incessant chirping of crickets and the occasional dog barking.  It was very late, after midnight, and only a few houses had their lights on.  Joshua had parked his Camaro two blocks away.  He had left the car unlocked and the keys in the ignition, and had quietly walked the rest of the way, his heart hammering in his chest.  The thought of Sirena caged in her house like an animal filled him with a black rage that he fought to control.  It would do neither of them any good for him to go charging into her house, gun drawn like he was Clint Eastwood.  In fact, that would be a great way to get them both killed.   He had to keep a cool head or it was all over.

If only he knew if she was there alone, or if Landry was there, or if the owner of the voice on the phone was keeping vigil.  Knowing what he knew now about Paul Landry, he was sure there was some goon in place to keep Sirena from escaping.  And again, Joshua felt the rage simmering inside him. 

Her house was coming up on the right.  As Craig had said, security grates were now over every window in sight.  Stealthily, Joshua crept toward the darkened house.  He recalled the layout of the place and knew Sirena’s bedroom window was right in front of him, only thirty feet away.  He eased the .38 out of the waistband of his jeans, and took the clip from his pocket.  Sliding it in place, Joshua stopped and hunkered down amid the foliage that served as a property divide between her house and the home next door, contemplating his next move.

***

 

Craig spotted Joshua’s Camaro parked two blocks from Sirena’s house and nodded to himself.  Smart move.  If Landry was at the house he might see and instantly recognize the bright yellow car, even in the middle of the night as it was.  He couldn’t hope for long that Landry wouldn’t know who’d gotten Sirena out of the house, but whatever stealth they could put into the operation would only help the two of them get away.

But could they get away from Paul Landry?  Really?  Craig sighed, then as Sirena’s home came into view, shifted the Beetle into Neutral and cut the engine.  Silently the car coasted another half block, just a short distance from Sirena’s house.  Craig put the car in gear and quietly got out.  Mike, in the passenger seat, followed suit, closing the door carefully, quietly.

“What now?” Mike whispered, caught up in the game.  His blue eyes surveyed the darkened street.  “Where’s J?”

“I don’t know,” Craig whispered back.  “Let’s go.  Quiet.”  He pointed at Sirena’s house.  “That’s it right there.”

“Doesn’t look like anyone’s around.  Unless they’re parked in the garage.”

“Yeah.  Well, we gotta find J first.  I hope to Christ he didn’t –“

Just then Joshua materialized, standing up from his crouched position in the shrubs ten yards from the house.  Mike nearly yelped out in surprise.  Joshua frantically waved them over, his expression forbidding.

“What the fuck are you two doing here?” Joshua asked in a furious whisper when they joined him.  “I told you I don’t want you involved in this, Craig!”  He looked at Mike.  “And you, too?  Craig, you said not to tell Mike anything about this!”

“I know I did.  But man, you taking off with a goddamned gun of all things – J, this is dangerous and you need us,” Craig insisted.  “Listen.  I have an idea.  Does Sirena’s house have a back door?”

Joshua nodded.

“Good.  Now here’s what we’re gonna do,” Craig whispered.  The three of them crouched down.  Joshua and Mike listened intently while Craig laid it all down. 

“Only one thing,” Mike murmured.  “If we’re at the front of the house, how will we know when you got her safely out the back, J?” 

“I’m counting on there being an alarm system,” Joshua told him.  “What would be the point of those bars on the windows if the doors aren’t secured, too?”

Craig nodded.  “I think you’re right.  The second that back door opens the alarm will go off.”  He looked at Mike.  “By the time it does, you’ll have neutralized anyone that’ll stop her from going, right?”

Mike grinned and flexed his massive hands into fists.  “You better believe it.”

“Okay, J.  Give me that gun, and go,” Craig ordered.

“My gun…?  But –“

“You’re liable to shoot your own fucking foot off, the way you’re shaking.  You go.  I’ll cover you."  Joshua handed the .38 over.  Craig took it and asked, "Where’s her bedroom window?”

“It’s this one right in front of us,” Joshua pointed straight ahead of them.  He rose to a half-crouch and began to move.

“Wait!”  Mike hissed at Craig.  “What if Landry’s here and sees him?  J, I have an idea.  Get back here.”

Joshua quickly slid back into the bushes.  “What?” he demanded.

“Throw something at the window.  Some small rocks.”  He reached down and handed a few pebbles to Joshua.  “Stay out of sight and just toss them.”

“Okay.”  Taking a deep breath, Joshua lobbed a stone at Sirena’s bedroom window.  It ricocheted off one of the iron bars.  “Shit,” he muttered.  He tossed another.  This one flew between the bars and struck the glass of the window with an audible sound.  Encouraged, he tossed another.  Then another and another until his hand was empty.  Some hit the bars, some the window.  Craig handed him some more stones, but they were not needed.  The curtain covering the window moved.

 

Sirena was never a very sound sleeper, and tonight was one of those nights when a doze was the best she could do.  The Tarot cards and their ominous meaning were flooding her mind.  If the cards were correct, there was only one way she was going to escape Paul Landry.

The Nine of Swords, the Tower, and the Nine of Cups drawn together meant one thing and one thing only.

Death.

 _I don’t accept that,_ she thought frantically.  _I refuse to accept that._

Maybe it was symbolic, not meant to be taken literally.  So much of the Tarot was symbolic, after all.  And yet - Sirena knew now that she couldn’t think of biding her time, waiting for the perfect moment to escape.  The perfect moment had already come and gone, ideally before she’d ever let Paul Landry into her life.  That ship had sailed, and getting away now was a necessity. 

The Tarot cards danced merrily around in her head.  The Nine of Swords, the Tower, and the Nine of Cups -

She turned over in bed, annoyed at the sound of the Manzanita branches striking the window near her bed.  Whack.  Whack.  Whack-whack- ping….

Sirena sat bolt upright.  Landry had had the Manzanita cut down a few weeks ago, complaining that its spring flowers attracted too many bees, to which he was deathly allergic.

Ping.  Whack. Ping-ping.

Sirena got out of bed and crept to the window.  Taking a deep breath, she opened the curtain, peering out at the darkness.

“It’s her!” Joshua cried in a whisper.  He immediately rose out of the bushes and stepped into Sirena’s view.  Her eyes opened wide with shock.

“Sirena!  Open the window!” Joshua spoke as loud as he possibly dared to, which was barely above a whisper.  He went to stand very close to the window and gestured to her to open it. 

Sirena was shaking her head, mouthing, _I can’t – alarm!_  Joshua clearly read her mouthed words as she spoke.  He also saw her battered face, her cut lip, and felt that slow rage burn within him again.   The bastard.  Just like his own father.  Scum of the worst kind.

 _I’m getting you out_ , Joshua told her silently.  _Who else is in the house?  How many?_

Sirena held up one finger.

_Landry?_

Sirena shook her head negative.  _What should I do?_  she mouthed.

 _Back door,_ Joshua pointed towards the backyard. 

 _Alarm!_ The helplessness in her face was pitiful. 

_Don’t worry.  Just go to the back door!_

“Jesus, J, will you hurry the fuck up!” Craig hissed behind him. 

Joshua turned and spoke into the darkness.  “Do it now.” He returned to the window.  _Go!_ he gestured at Sirena.

He saw Sirena’s look of surprise as Joshua’s roommates appeared out of the inky blackness and went around to the front of the house.  A moment later there was a resounding banging on the front door.  Sirena jumped, startled, threw a wild look at Joshua, and then left the window. 

Sirena quickly yanked off her nightgown.  She slid on a pair of jeans, a t-shirt and sneakers.  Flinging open the drawer of her nightstand, she grabbed her wallet; it contained over a thousand dollars in cash and four credit cards.  She knew Joshua didn’t have the money they’d need to get away, but she did.  It was the last vestige of independence she had left that Paul Landry hadn’t yet tried to weasel out of her. 

Joshua had come!  Sirena felt a surge of joy that coalesced with panic, but she refused to give in to either.  She had to remain calm.  There would be plenty of time for hysterics once she'd gotten away.

Sirena left her bedroom and tiptoed through the darkness of the house to the kitchen as she again heard the heavy banging on the front door and, down the hall, Giorgio began grumbling to himself.  Her heart thudding madly in her chest, Sirena reached out a shaking hand and her fingers closed on the deadbolt lock securing the back door.  Slowly she turned it, the click it made sounding as loud as a gunshot to her ears.  _This was it_.

Joshua slid along the side of the house, rounded the corner, and then, hunched below the windows, he made his way silently to the door, scarcely able to breathe.  _This was it._

“What the fuck,” Giorgio growled, half asleep.  The loud banging on the door came again and he sighed, rising and scratching his bare stomach.  He squinted at his watch – almost one in the goddamned morning?  Was the boss feeling horny in the middle of the night?  Maybe tonight Landry would be in the mood to let Giorgio sit in the room and watch again like he had the other night and a few times before.  That was always a treat.  It almost made up for the fact that Giorgio didn’t dare lay a finger on the bitch himself.  Landry told him matter-of-factly that Giorgio would find his dick doing hot dog duty on a vending cart at the beach if that ever happened.

Still, Giorgio enjoyed spying on Sirena, watching her bathe, watching her dress, watching her screw and suck off the boss.  He’d given up normal sex entirely – his voyeuristic activities were the biggest kick he could ask for next to giving it to her himself.   Still sleepy but full of anticipation, Giorgio went to the front door, pressed the button to deactivate the alarm and began to open it.  Only then did it occur to him that Paul Landry wouldn’t knock.  Paul Landry owned this house.  Paul Landry had the key.  Giorgio froze, fully realizing his mistake.

That moment of hesitation was all Mike needed.  Moving like lightning for a man of his size, he kicked the door open, grabbed Giorgio and in no time had him on the floor in a chokehold, one arm twisted painfully behind his back.  Giorgio howled in rage and Craig kicked him in the ribs, shutting him up. 

Joshua was there, waiting for her.  Hearing the commotion from the entry, Sirena flung open the back door and the alarm screamed in her ears.  With a cry she ran out into Joshua’s waiting arms.  “Joshua!” she cried his name over and over, crying and clinging to him fiercely.

He afforded himself a moment of luxury, just holding her there while the alarm blared.   Lights came on in the house next door, and Joshua urged, “Let’s go.  We’re going to run for it.  Are you okay to run? “

“Yes, I think so,” Sirena replied, her voice hoarse with emotion. 

“My car’s just down the street.  Come on.”  Grabbing her hand, the two of them set off for the street at a sprint, while Mike was amusing himself in Sirena’s living room by beating the living shit out of Giorgio. 

Finally, Craig called a halt to the proceedings.  Craig, still holding Joshua’s gun, knew he should cap the guy, but he also knew he couldn’t do it.  He instead dragged Mike out of the house.  Mike had nary a scratch on him.  He was breathing hard but his eyes were alive with excitement.

“You’d think you were enjoying yourself,” Craig muttered as they got in the Beetle.

“I was!”  Mike answered.  “That fucker deserved every bit of it.  I mean, did you see Sirena’s face?”

“Yeah, I did.  I think that was probably Landry though.  Not this guy.”

“Still,” Mike muttered.  “I’d love to get my hands on _that_ sonofabitch, too.”

“Amen,” Craig replied as they pulled away.  “Amen.  But right now we gotta get Sirena and J somewhere safe.  We’re all going back to our place, and we’ll have to figure out what’s next from there.”  He glanced at Mike as he left Sirena’s street.  “That _was_ pretty awesome.  You messed him up good.”

\---

Joshua parked the car behind his apartment building in his usual spot.  It had been a quiet ride, with Sirena weeping silently and Joshua stroking her hair reassuringly.  Shutting off the Camaro, he turned to her.  “Are you okay?” he asked gently. 

Sirena sniffled.  “I am now,” she whispered.  “Joshua – I don’t know how you knew.”  Her tearstreaked, bruised face was illuminated by a nearby street light.  She was almost unrecognizable.  “How?  How did you find out what was happening?”

Joshua touched her hair.  “We’ll talk upstairs.”  He looked at the run-down brownstone he’d called home since the previous autumn.  “It’s not much, y’know, small, no privacy to speak of living with those two clowns, but –“he trailed off as Sirena placed a finger over his lips.

She shook her head, her dark eyes still running tears.  “It’s paradise to me.  Because I can be with you again.” Her voice was tremulous as she continued, “Joshua, about Paul –“

Joshua smiled and, leaning over, kissed her very gently on her bruised lips.  “Let’s go upstairs and talk.  I expect Craig and Mike are on their way back, too.”

And talk they did.  Once safely upstairs and snug in his twin bed, wearing one of Mike’s huge t-shirts, her face washed, her wounds gently tended to, Sirena told Joshua the entire story.  Craig and Mike stood silently by, listening, as dawn crept into the room.

“I thought you would hate me,” she finished.  “And I wouldn’t blame you.  I hate myself for getting involved with someone like Paul Landry.  I truly had no idea what an evil man he really is until it was too late.”  Her eyes met Craig’s.  “You’re right, you know.  He’s involved.  With the D’Amicos, with drug running, with the porn industry, prostitution, racketeering, you name it, his hands are in it.”  She looked at Joshua.  “What am I going to do now?”

“What you’re going to do now is get some sleep,” Joshua told her.  At her nod, Craig and Mike started for the door. 

“Wait,” she told them.  Rising from the small bed she hugged Craig, then Mike, telling them, “I can’t thank you enough for what you did for me tonight.  I’ll never be able to repay you.”  Fresh tears welled in her eyes.  “You guys literally saved my life.”

“It was my pleasure,” Mike mumbled awkwardly, returning the hug.  Craig agreed.  They left the room, and Joshua and Sirena looked at one another for a long moment.

“I can take the couch,” Joshua offered.  “The bed’s pretty small, I know.”

“I think there’s room for two,” Sirena said quietly.  “Unless you’d _rather_ sleep on the couch.  I guess – I guess I wouldn’t blame you if you don’t want to sleep by me.”

He looked at Sirena, so lovely despite her bruised face and swollen, cut lip.  He thought about Paul Landry and his arrogance, his ruthless and cruel treatment of her.  He thought about the first time he’d made love to her, then every time after that first magical night.  He thought of her eyes burning into his as she told him for the first time that she loved him.  “Don’t be silly,” he said, and saw her visible relief. 

Joshua removed his t-shirt and jeans.  Sliding into the bed beside her, he took her in his arms and she rested her head on his chest, playing idly with his long hair.  Sirena relished the steady rise and fall of his chest as he breathed, the steady beat of his heart beneath her cheek.  His skin was warm and smooth and the feel of his lean body pressed against hers made her feel weak, yet incredibly renewed. 

“I love you, Joshua,” she whispered, waiting to feel that soft blanket of peace inside that she hadn’t experienced in weeks.  It didn't come.  “I missed you so much.  I thought I’d never see you again and I’m so sorry for what happened.  I’m so sorry for hurting you.”  Her voice tightened and she felt tears burning her eyes all over again.

“Shhh… “He hushed her.  “I love you, too, Sirena.  It’s okay.  Go to sleep and  I promise, it’s going to be all right now.”

 _I don't think so_ , Sirena thought, as weariness claimed her at last..  _I really don't think so._


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Borrowed another song, this one by the far too underrated indie band Clyde – circa 1998-2001, called “Running Back.” All credit for this beautiful song goes to Craig Taylor, Scott Moses, Michael Bergman and Michael Hamboussi.
> 
> ***

 

Sirena was the first to awaken.  Judging by the position of the bars of sunlight beaming through the window, it was midafternoon.   The apartment seemed quiet and she lay there a few moments with Joshua curled up next to her.  She couldn’t remember when she’d last slept so well, even crowded in a twin bed meant for one and entangled in Joshua’s arms as she was.

Freedom.  Being with the man she loved and feared she’d lost.  Sirena turned to the man sharing her pillow and took that moment to study him intently.  His hair partially covered his face and she gently moved it aside.  His hypnotic, hazel-brown eyes were closed.  She studied the elegant arch of his brows, the thick lashes, and the curve of his lips – oh, his lips and what they could do! – his high cheekbones and his jawline.  His face in sleep looked so relaxed, and even younger than he was.  She knew he was turning twenty-one tomorrow.

Her eyes traveled over his body, clad only in a pair of boxer briefs.  He was all lean, corded muscle, the kind of muscle one develops from years of hard work, not in a gym.  Slight of build and stature, he still stood a good six inches over her five-foot-two frame.  His chest was bare and smooth, and his stomach, just above the waistband of his boxers, had only a sparse growth of fine hair.  His fingers were long, the nails neatly trimmed, the pads of his left fingers calloused by years of guitar playing. 

Sirena had not been a promiscuous woman but she’d been around a little.  Joshua was very different in every way from any man she’d ever been with, and he’d made her forget every one of them.  For one thing, he was not rich.  For another, he was not jaded by living in the fishbowl of fame.

She remembered teaching him some of her ways as a Wiccan and how thoroughly absorbed he was by it.  She remembered casting a circle and performing the rite called “drawing down the moon” with him one full moon night just before the night of the bonfire.   They’d done the ritual in the same park where they’d shared a lunch the first day they met.   She remembered the wonder in his face when he’d first invoked the God and Goddess with her, and the powerful energy he told her he felt as a result. 

She lay there beside him now, wondering how many girls he’d had, and how she measured up to them.  He was a thoughtful, gentle, considerate lover.  Not the most imaginative, perhaps, but with Joshua, who needed it?  The raw, intense sensuality of his voice when he sang transcended into the way he made love; he took passion in both beyond anything she’d ever experienced before.  Even now Sirena yearned for his touch, for the way he seemed to make her skin electric.  Every touch, every kiss gave her delicious shocks.  He made her feel things she had only thought possible in movies and books.   

She knew in the beginning that he’d been star-struck and over-awed around her.  She also knew when he’d fallen in love – not the blind adoration of a fan, nor the lust of a young man overwhelmed and intimidated by her and who she was, but in love with Sirena herself.  She knew he no longer viewed her as _the_ Sirena Welsh, the rock star, but Sirena Welsh, the woman.  He loved her for _her_ , not because she had some halfassed name.  And what he and his friends had done last night, risking their lives to rescue her from the hell she’d let herself fall into…

Sirena felt a cold chill pass through her.  Why did she suddenly feel like she was committing Joshua to memory?

Her mind snapped shut.  Carefully Sirena eased her way out of bed so as not to disturb him and tiptoed out of the bedroom to the one bathroom in the apartment.  She spied Mike, sound asleep on the couch.  She continued on to the bathroom.  There, she washed her face, wincing as the soap and hot water penetrated her cut lip, ran a brush through the snarled mass that was her hair, and studied her reflection.

Her face was still disfigured, but it was healing.  The swelling of her lip had gone down considerably, and the bruising on her cheek was still evident but it too would soon fade.  She thought of Landry then and shivered.   He certainly was aware by now she’d gone.  And she also knew he’d be hunting her down, if he wasn’t already.  Paul Landry was not about to let her simply leave.  His immense ego wouldn’t allow it.  He knew she was aware of his links to the mob.  Add on his power, his connections, and his money, and Sirena knew she couldn’t stay here long. 

Joshua, Mike and Craig had rescued her.  Now she had to do the right thing by them, and protect them as best as she could.

Sirena crept through the quiet apartment back to Joshua’s bedroom.  He was still asleep.  She slid on the jeans and t-shirt she’d worn last night and returned to the living room, looking for her shoes.  She sat down in one of the kitchen chairs and put them on, then very quietly started for the door.  Joshua would be very angry when he found out what she was doing, when he discovered she’d left the apartment alone, and she knew it was crazy, but it had to be done.  She reached a hand for the doorknob.  Just as she touched it, the doorknob turned under her fingers and the door began to swing open.

***

At the moment his defected mistress awakened in another, much poorer section of the city, Paul Landry was sitting in his study in Bel Air, his feet up on his desk.  The low boil in his head had been kicked on high, and it was taking Landry every ounce of will he possessed to keep a lid on the pressure cooker that was his brain.  He was winning the battle – for now.  His gaze swept over his desk, upon which nothing sat except his feet, clad in handmade Italian patent leather shoes, a heavy crystal ashtray, and the telephone.

He knew Sirena had help getting out.  And what’s more, he knew who’d helped her.  Landry hadn’t expected it from the little greasy pipsqueak; he’d thought Sirena had seen the last of her lover when Joshua found out she was sharing herself between himself and Joshua.  Landry had expected him to scuttle away in defeat, and that would be that. 

But he’d clearly underestimated Joshua Tremont and that burned him almost as much as having underestimated Sirena’s involvement with him.  Worse, obviously Joshua had to have been to the Westwood house before to have gone there last night. So, Sirena had actually taken him there?  _His_ house?  It was an outrage he couldn’t begin to fathom.

Landry felt his iron grip of self-control begin to loosen at the very thought of it, and he knew he had to find them soon.  From the moment the call had come at just before two in the morning – Giorgio had managed to crawl to his bedroom and the one phone in the house - Landry’s head felt like it was going to explode.  It had taken superhuman will not to finish the job on that incompetent fool for allowing this to happen. 

But Landry also knew if he lost control, the consequences could be even worse.  That had nearly been proven last night when he’d raced over to Westwood and had had to deal with not only Giorgio beaten to a pulp, but a couple of nosy neighbors who’d been roused by the alarm, followed by a couple of Westwood police officers dispatched in response to several 911 calls. 

Landry lit a cigar and blew contemplative smoke rings.  He had to think ahead, had to keep it together for a little longer.  Long enough to find that bitch and her boyfriend.  That was all.  And Landry knew exactly where to start looking.  Once he’d calmed himself a little more, in a day or two perhaps, he would take action.

_I’m coming for you, cunt.  You and your little cocksucker boyfriend.   Make your peace with God, both of you._

Landry leaned back in his leather chair and smiled.  It was the kind of smile that would make ordinary people – people who didn’t know him – smile in return, but it would have frozen Sirena’s blood if she’d seen it.  And she would see it.  Soon. 

Very soon.

 

***

For a wild moment, Sirena was certain it was Paul Landry coming through Joshua’s door.  Grinning, his hands reaching for her throat where they would squeeze and squeeze –

She stepped back, startled, and was even more surprised when it was not Paul Landry.  It was Craig. 

“Hey,” Craig greeted her.  His eyes took in her reaction to him and he said, “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” Sirena said, feeling her heart slowing to its normal rhythm.  “You just startled me.”  She stepped away from the door.

“Were you going out?”  Craig asked.  “Alone?  Not a good idea.”

“Well, I –“

Mike chose this moment to shuffle into the kitchen, yawning sleepily.  “What’s going on?” he mumbled.  “You’re not leaving, are you?” he asked Sirena. 

Sirena stared at the two of them.  “If you think I’m going to run out on Joshua, you’re crazy.  No.”  She thought quickly, and said, “did you guys know his birthday is tomorrow?”

Craig looked at Mike, who returned the glance.  “Oh.  Shit,” Craig muttered shamefacedly.  “Guess I forgot.”

“I did, too,” Mike said.  “Man.”

“Some friends you two are!” Sirena exclaimed.

“So you want to get him a gift?” Mike asked.

“I had a couple of things in mind, actually.  But you’re right – it’s not a good idea to leave the apartment.”  Sirena sighed, quelling her frustration.  “I just thought – a quick trip to a shop I know not far from here – it shouldn’t be dangerous.  But,” she sighed again, “I don’t know.”  Her eyes looked up at them, dark and filled with trepidation.  “I can’t even run to a shop and back?  How am I going to live like this?  How can I expect Joshua to live like this?  It’s as much like being in prison as I was in Paul’s house!”  Her eyes burned with frustrated tears. 

Mike put a comforting arm around her.  “It’s going to be okay, Sirena.  We’ll figure something out since Craig nixed my idea.”

Sirena lifted her head and sniffed.  “What do you mean?”

“I said we oughta just waste this Landry guy,” Mike said, his tone nonchalant. “Y’know. Take him out of the population.”

“You – you what?” Sirena said, stunned.  She looked at Craig, who nodded affirmatively, but added, “That’s Mike for you.  Show him a Gordian knot and his solution is to chop it right down the middle.  We’re not gonna kill anyone.  It’s crazy.”

Sirena looked at them both, but her dark eyes were far away.  If they’d known her better, if Joshua had seen her in that moment - “Well, guys,” Sirena said, her light tone disguising the steel beneath her words, “Sometimes people have to do crazy things when they have no other choice.”

***

Giorgio was recuperating on the sofa in the Westwood house.  Nursing a broken nose, dislocated jaw, fractured ribs, and numerous other injuries, he was cruising on Percocet and not aware of much of anything but the pain he was in despite the narcotics, and the humiliation of being beaten nearly unconscious. 

He’d managed to reset his own jaw before crawling to the phone in the bedroom, but it had been excruciating and the entire lower half of his face felt strangely loose yet.  Still, it was nothing compared to what he thought the boss would do to him when he arrived.  The man had gone stark raving mad.  Giorgio had been certain at one point that Landry would pull out the snub-nosed revolver he always carried, and plant a bullet between Giorgio’s eyes.  The way he felt now, it would have been a relief.

He got himself on the sofa and there he stayed.  It was a very warm night and Landry was sweating profusely.  Despite being roused out of bed in the middle of the night, he was dressed impeccably in a suit.  Giorgio had never seen him wear anything but a suit.  Through a red haze of misery, Giorgio wondered with a sort of detached curiosity if his boss even owned any casual clothes.

Landry had gotten rid of the neighbors and policemen somehow, and they were alone.  “Idiot,” he muttered for the umpteenth time.  “It certainly was a mistake putting you on this job.  And I don’t like making mistakes.”  He stopped and looked at Giorgio.  “Tell me what happened.”

Giorgio groaned.  He’d already told the boss what happened multiple times.  The mess in the living room and his appearance said it all, anyway.  Landry had already flown into a frightening rage though, so maybe he’d gotten it out of his system. 

“Two guys came in –“

“Because you _let_ them in,” Landry cut in.  “Goddamned fool.”

“And the next thing I knew I was on the floor, one of them kicked me in the ribs –“Giorgio grimaced at the memory –“and the back alarm went off.  They left after that.  That’s all I know.”

“Christ!” Landry spat and began to pace agitatedly again.  “What did they look like?”

“I dunno – blonde, young, maybe early twenties –“Giorgio answered.  All he wanted was some heavy-duty painkillers and to be as far away from Paul Landry as possible.  On another planet, perhaps.

“A couple of kids!”  Landry screamed suddenly, and Giorgio shrunk back into the couch cushions.  “You got yourself beat up by a couple of fucking kids and that bitch is gone now!”  He strode to the couch and leaned over the injured man, his eyes shooting venom. “You’re going to help me find her,” he rasped.  “I want her found.  Her and whoever is responsible for this.  Not tomorrow, not tonight.  _Now._ ”

Jesus.  Giorgio flailed one hand helplessly.  “Boss – I need a doctor –“

“You’re going to need a _morgue_ if you don’t move your useless ass!” Landry exploded.  “Get up!”

Giorgio moaned, but obeyed, clutching his side.  He was in terrible shape, but he knew what Landry could do to him would be far worse.

But Landry seemed to finally realize that the man in front of him would barely be able to take a piss alone; he would be no help finding Sirena or his assailants.  Cursing, Landry left, returning an hour later with a full bottle of painkillers.  He tossed them at Giorgio, and, still cursing, left.  Anna was throwing one of her parties tonight, and he’d promised to be there. 

 ***

Joshua awoke to the most beautiful pair of brown eyes he’d ever seen.  Sirena was sitting on the edge of the bed, stroking his shoulder and playing with his hair.   Her eyes were filled with tears. “Hey, what’s this?” he asked softly, accepting the mug of hot coffee she offered him.  “What’s wrong?”

 “I’m so sorry, Joshua.”  She looked away and drew a tremulous breath that turned into a sigh.  “I’ve brought a lot of trouble to all of you, but especially you.”  Her eyes met his again.  “Paul will figure out it was you.  And that makes you as much a target as I am.  Why did you put yourself in this position for me after what I did?”

Joshua’s face was solemn and fearful, but she also saw the love for her that was ever-present.  “You really have to ask that?” he said.

Sirena’s eyes dropped to the blanket on the bed.  Her finger traced random patterns on it and she said, “I don’t deserve you.”  Her voice was a whisper.  “You don’t get it.  I’ve ruined my life, and that’s one thing.  But I’ve ruined yours, too.  I never meant for any of this to happen.”

“I know that.”

“So…now what do we do?”

Joshua sighed, and the sigh turned into a shrug.  “Get out of town, obviously.”

“Yeah.  Where to?”  She looked at him.  “Where, Joshua?  I have a passport.  Do _you_ have a passport?”

“Me?”  Joshua laughed.  “No.  I’ve never seen the need for one.”  His laugh turned self-deprecating.  “I thought I’d get around to that when I’m about to go on my first international tour.”

Sirena didn’t laugh.  Her face was a myriad of emotions, all of them dark and pained.  “I’ve accepted my career in music is over.  Hell, it was over when I left Tramp.  But you – you could’ve made it.  You could have, if you hadn’t gotten mixed up with me.”  She looked away. 

“Hey…” Joshua touched her cheek, turning her to face him.  “Do you really think that matters to me now?” he whispered.  His eyes bore into hers.  “You can’t miss what you never had.  I don’t care.”

“But…it’s what you wanted, and dammit, you’re so talented, and this is just wrong, all of it! “  She wiped the tears from her face angrily and drew a ragged breath.

“I don’t care,” he repeated firmly.  “It doesn’t mean a damn thing to me now.  You do.”   He smiled then.  “We can write and play music for ourselves and the kids we’re going to have.”

Sirena was silent for a moment.  “Whatever we do, we have to do it soon, Joshua.  Maybe even tonight.”

“Why?” Joshua asked.  “We’re safe here for a while I’m sure –“

Sirena was shaking her head.  “No, Joshua.  We’re not.  I wasn’t going to tell you this, but –“She paused.  “But I know you’ll understand what I’m saying.  A few hours before you guys came and got me out of that house – I did a Tarot reading.”  She swallowed hard.  “I asked the cards how I can escape Paul.”

“Yeah?” Joshua asked, his eyes intently fixed on her.  “And?”

“I drew the Nine of Swords, the Tower, and the Nine of Cups.”

Joshua, unfamiliar with the meanings of the cards, only could shake his head.

“It means – it means death, Joshua.  The only way to escape Paul is _death_.  That was the meaning of the cards.”  She looked at her hands, folded tightly in her lap.

Joshua leaned back against the wall.  “Death, huh?” 

Something in the tone of his voice made Sirena look up at him.  She was surprised to see him smiling a little.  “What?” she asked.

“Well, _death_ is just a word.  Really, that’s all it is.  And, _whose_ death?  It could mean his too, you know.”

“True,” she said slowly.  “But Joshua, I really don’t think so.”

***

It was nightfall of April eighteenth and the four young people in the brownstone apartment sat around talking about nothing in particular, which segued into the love the four of them shared for making music.  Joshua began plucking away on his Gibson, aimlessly at first, then with purpose.  Sirena hummed the tune with him.  It was a song he’d written recently, called “Running Back.” 

Sirena loved the song; it fit her voice beautifully, especially when singing harmony in her upper register while Joshua took the melody.  Mike said it called for an artsy drum part, lamenting that he didn’t have a full drum kit at home – there was no room for it in their apartment and, as he said, the walls were made out of Kleenex.  The neighbors wouldn’t appreciate the noise.

He had a set of bongos, though, and he fetched them.  Craig got out his bass guitar and a small amp; and though it wasn’t his instrument of choice – he was a keyboardist by profession - he was a proficient bass player.  The song was coming along nicely as they experimented together throughout the late afternoon and evening, looking for and finding exactly the sound they wanted.  Sirena relished this time with Joshua and his friends, doing what they all loved to do.  Watching Joshua at work only served to solidify the decision she’d already made.

The phone rang, interrupting them.

“I got it,” Mike said.  He set aside his bongos and picked it up, saying hello.  He listened for a moment, looked at Joshua, and said “J, it’s for you.  Your sister, Jess?” He held the phone out.

“Jess?” Joshua set his Gibson down and took the phone from Mike.  “Hey, Shrimp!” he exclaimed, delighted to hear from his little sister.

“Ugh, don’t call me that!” Jessie groaned at her brother’s use of the childhood nickname he’d given her when she was five years old.  “I call to wish you a happy birthday and you instantly start picking on me.  Geez! How old are you about to be, anyway?”

Joshua laughed.  “It’s good to hear from you.  How’ve you been?”

“Just great.  You know, nothing ever happens around here.  I’m thinking about moving to Minnesota in June, though.”

“Minnesota?  What’s in Minnesota?” Joshua asked.  Then he remembered.   She had a boyfriend now. “Oh, yeah, Lee’s there at the University, isn’t he?”

A self-conscious giggle.  “Yeah.  Mom told you about him, I guess.”

Joshua was amused.  Badass Jess, giggling?  It must be serious.  He asked that question, and Jess affirmed it, saying Lee had proposed a few weeks ago, over spring break, and she’d said yes.

“That’s fantastic, Shrimp, congratulations!” 

“Joshuaaaaa, stop _calling_ me that!” she wailed.  “You’ll come back for the wedding, won’t you?  It’s not for another year, maybe two.”

“I wouldn’t miss it,” Joshua told her.  “So, did mom fill you in on things here?”

“Yesssss,” Jess replied excitedly.  “So is it _true?_   You’re really working with Sirena Welsh?”

“Well, yeah, but….a little more than working with her.”  He glanced at Sirena who was looking at him with a wry expression.

“Wait – _what?_ ” Jess breathed.  “You don’t mean you’re like – _dating_ her or something, do you?”

“Why don’t you ask her?  She’s right here,” Joshua said, and heard Jess gasp.  He handed Sirena the phone, whispering, “say hello to Jess, also known as The Shrimp.  She is a huge Tramp fan.”

Sirena grinned and took the phone, mouthing _I’m not going to call her The Shrimp_.  “Hello, Jess, this is Sirena.”

Everyone in the room heard Jessie’s screech of excitement.  Sirena spoke to her for a few minutes, telling her how she’d met Joshua, what a fantastic singer, songwriter and guitarist her brother was, which made him blush.  And acknowledged that they had fallen in love during the making of her album. 

When Joshua finally got the phone back, he warned her about the cost of the long-distance call.  “Mark and mom will have your ass, you know.  You should have called collect.”

“Let me worry about that,” Jess told him.  “Oh my God.  I talked to Sirena Welsh!  She sounds so – so _normal_!” 

“She is, Jess.  She’s just like anyone else.”

“Sure, she is.  With a legion of a zillion fans.  And a zillion guys lusting for her because she’s drop dead gorgeous, and to top it off, she can sing her ass off.  How the hell did she end up settling for _you_?”

“Keep it up, Shrimp, and we won’t play for you,” Joshua returned her teasing.  “That’s what we were doing when you called.  Working on a song I wrote.”

“Oh!  Please, Joshy, please _please,_ play it, and can I record it?” Jess begged.

“Sure, why not?” Joshua consented.  “Guys?” he asked his roommates and Sirena.  They all nodded, and Joshua told Jess to let him know when she’d gotten her tape recorder ready.  She did, and Joshua set the phone down, picking up his Gibson. 

He began to play, a haunting, low intro.  At just the right moment Craig’s bass joined him, creating a foundation upon which the rest of the song was built.  Then Mike began with his bongos, playing a soft intricate pattern with his bare hands that gradually built throughout the song.

Joshua began to sing.

_“Try to find_

_My old mind_

_When the world I knew was in your eyes._

Sirena then joined in, singing the high harmony.

_We stand alone_

_Without remorse_

_When the world splits in two I’ll be wanting you._

_I do not eat_

_I will not dream_

_No, I can’t bring myself down to a lesser love._

_Take my life_

_Into your world_

_And I’ll find_

_Yes I’ll find what I want._

_Say my name_

_When night returns_

_And I, oh I_

_I’ll be running back._

_With all your love_

_And all your pain_

_I will, yes I will_

_Live again._

Sirena watched Joshua take the lead break with that intensity, that searing hot and completely natural sensuality he poured into everything he did.  They might have been on stage before thousands in a huge arena, not in a shabby living room playing for Joshua’s sister over the phone.  Joshua was fully captive to the music he was creating.  He was one with it, a man possessed.  Sirena knew that this was what he lived for, what he was meant to do.  Perhaps even more than she’d been.

And she’d ruined it for him. 

And it was all so unfair.

She could feel the four of them catching fire off each other through the hot, unrehearsed spontaneity of it, and it was so exquisite she almost forgot to sing. 

_Say my name_

_When night returns_

_And I, oh I_

_I’ll be running back._

_With all your love_

_And all your pain_

_I will, yes I will_

_Live again……”_

 

***

 

Joshua jolted awake, breathing hard.  A nightmare, and a bad one if the way he was sweating was any indication.  He tried to recall it, and only the barest of nonsensical fragments remained.  He lay there, waiting for his heart to resume its normal steady rhythm.  The fact that he was alone in his bed didn’t occur to him as being strange at first.   He yawned shakily and reached for his alarm clock, turning it to face him.  Just before two in the morning.

Then he remembered, and he sat up quickly. 

Sirena. 

_She just went to the bathroom, or into the kitchen for a drink.  Or maybe you were thrashing around so much she couldn’t sleep by you._

Joshua got out of bed and padded into the living room.  It was empty.  So was the kitchen and the bathroom.  Both Craig and Mike’s bedroom doors were open but he knew neither were home; they’d gone to work; Mike was due home in a little over an hour, Craig, not until seven. He looked anyway.  Nothing.

Joshua’s heart began to thud erratically in his chest and his stomach twisted into a painful knot of panic as he raced into his bedroom again, throwing on clothes as fast as he could.  Sirena had gone.  _Why?  Why would she leave?_

She was so anxious to get out of town; would she have left without him?  She didn’t have a car – he ran to the kitchen and saw his keys in their place on the hook by the sink. 

“Sirena,” he whispered to the empty apartment.  Sinking into a kitchen chair,   he ran his fingers through his hair and tried to think clearly. 

She wouldn’t leave him.  Not now.  Not after what she’d gone through with Landry, not after he and his roommates had gotten her away from him.  They’d been making plans – driving to Iowa and meeting his family, then up through Minnesota into Canada where they would then disappear.  He would cut his hair; she would dye hers.  They would take assumed names and work regular jobs. 

Sirena had expressed certainty it wouldn’t be that easy.  “Paul won’t stop, Joshua,” she’d told him just hours ago.  “This means a life of looking over our shoulders, new identities, changing our appearances, and never again making music for people.  We give up everything and everyone we love, and spend the rest of our lives in hiding.”  Her eyes filled with tears.  “As long as Paul lives, he won’t stop.  Are you ready to live like this just to be with me?”   

Joshua sat in the darkened kitchen, going over and over the previous evening and their conversation in bed.  _As long as Paul lives -_

Suddenly it all slammed home, it all made sense. 

“Oh, my God.”  Joshua jumped and ran back into his bedroom and flipped on the light switch, frantically searching.  He tore through his closet, yanking jeans, shoes, shirts, and shoeboxes aside.  Feeling around the closet’s shelf, he knew it for sure.

Sirena had gone, and she’d taken his gun with her.

Whirling, he faced the room, praying she’d left him a note, a hint, some kind of clue where she was heading. 

There was a note, laying on the nightstand, right next to his alarm clock.  He rushed to it, grabbed it with shaking hands, and began to read.

 

 

_Joshua,_

_Please don’t try to stop me from doing what I have to do.  Perhaps by the time you read this it will all be over and God/dess willing we’ll really be free and can all live our lives in peace.  I don’t think that’s too much to wish for._

_But if this goes badly, please forgive me, and remember me the way I’ll always remember you.  Never doubt how much I love you.   But I just couldn’t ask you to give up everything you are and everything you could be for my stupid mistakes._

_And maybe you’re right.  Maybe death is only a word.  I guess we all have to find out someday._

_Be happy, my Joshua, and be well._

_With all My Love,_

_Sirena_

Joshua put the note back on the nightstand and raced from the apartment.

 

***

Paul Landry cursed, clicked on the bedside light and fumbled for the phone.  Another call in the middle of the night.  _Now what?_  He thought, grateful that he and Anna had separate bedrooms.  If it was Giorgio, he would personally go to Westwood and finish what that little asshole Joshua and his friends started.  Irritably he grasped the receiver and held it to his ear.  “What is it?” he snapped. 

“Paul.  It’s Sirena.  Meet me at the Westwood house.  Now.  And it’s best you come alone.”  The line clicked dead.

***

The cabdriver attempted several times to make conversation with his passenger, a young blonde who bore an amazing resemblance to that singer, Sirena something, though this one looked like she’d done a recent round or two in a boxing ring.  He even commented on the resemblance, earning only a strange half- smile and continued silence from the woman.  Shrugging, he gave up and continued on to the Westwood destination she’d given him.  She paid the fare and got out without a word, not waiting for change.  The cabbie shrugged again and pulled away. 

Sirena stared for a moment at this house she despised, then hurried to the garage, taking Joshua’s gun from the waistband of her jeans as she went.  She prayed the code to get into the garage hadn’t been changed, and was delighted to find it still worked.  The garage opened and she stepped inside, closing the door behind her.  She went to the door leading into the house and found it was unlocked.  _Sloppy security now that I’m gone,_ she thought with a smile.  _Very sloppy._ Stepping inside, Sirena was instantly assailed with a thousand horrific memories.  Countering these were sweet memories of Joshua the few times he’d been there.  

Holding the gun carefully, Sirena crept from room to room.  The place was silent as a stone, and empty.  Sirena wondered where Giorgio had gone.  From what Craig and Mike had said, her former keeper had been beaten pretty badly.  She wondered if he’d gone to the hospital.  Or, perhaps Landry had been so pissed off at her escape that he’d finished the man off himself.  No matter, it was one less problem for her to deal with tonight.

Her nerves on high alert, she went to her bedroom and turned on the light.  Everything was as she’d left it.  She inspected her closet and dug out clothes.  From there she went into the bathroom and began to fix her face as best she could.  Nothing heavy – foundation, lip gloss, eye shadow, eye liner, mascara.  It took less than fifteen minutes but the transformation was dramatic.  Returning to the bedroom, she dressed in one of her signature gypsy-like outfits she only wore onstage or in photo shoots; long flowing black skirt, bell-sleeved matching blouse, heeled black boots that reached mid-calf.  She brushed out her hair and stepped in front of the full length mirror that made up the closet door, surveying the results with satisfaction.

Standing before her was Sirena Welsh, the rock star, the white witch.  Smiling to herself, she picked up Joshua’s gun, ensured the safety was off – at least what she thought was the safety – and then slid it under one of the many pillows on the bed.  She settled herself there and began to wait.


	10. Chapter 10

The D’Amico living room was immaculate, everything in its place and the floor polished to a mirror shine despite the fact that they’d entertained guests just hours earlier.  Anna hurried down the stairs to the expansive, floor-to-ceiling bay window that dominated the room, and watched her husband’s Bentley back out of the driveway.  It was two-twenty in the morning. 

She had heard his private phone ringing, heard him pick up and mutter something.  She got out of bed and went to her door, opening it and peering down the hall, and within fifteen minutes he’d emerged fully dressed, striding down the stairs.  Quickly Anna dressed, her mind agitated.  Where on earth was he going at this hour?  The resentment of his secretive and increasingly erratic behavior had reached the breaking point, and a voice within her urged her to find out exactly what was going on.  Without hesitation, Anna snatched up her Hermes bag and raced from the house.  The night sky was overcast and there was a rumble of thunder.  There were flashes of lightning in the distance, but Anna paid no notice.  She flung herself into her car and started it, backing quickly down the driveway and setting off behind her husband.

***

Paul Landry had a naturally suspicious nature.  It was necessary; in fact, it was the only way to survive.  Certainly Sirena’s order to come to the Westwood house was an intriguing one.   She'd told him to come alone, but _she_  might not be alone, he reasoned.  And yet….it would look like cowardice on his part if he arrived with an associate in tow, wouldn’t it?  And above all else, Paul Landry was no coward. 

Jesus.  What a night this was turning out to be.  Anna’s suffocatingly dull party with her suffocatingly dull friends, then off to bed early as he had an important meeting in the morning.  And now here he was speeding to Westwood where he would demand to know what the hell Sirena thought she was doing, running out on him with some nobody session musician.   He drove on, his mind ticking furiously.  Sirena returning to the house was not a move he would have predicted, but then Sirena never was a predictable woman.  He’d had to take stern measures to keep her in line.  For all the good _that_ did.

So, why was she back?  And how did Joshua Tremont figure into any of this?  Where was that little punk now?

When he got his hands on her, she’d give him answers.  Sure. He would go alone to the house and by the time he was finished with her, she’d be begging to give him answers.  And if Tremont was there with her, Landry would tear him apart.  But first, he’d teach Sirena a lesson.  And Joshua would have a ringside seat. 

Nobody fucked with Paul Landry.  And nobody took what was rightfully his.

Rain began to patter on the windshield, and Landry turned on the wipers.   Wrapped up in his thoughts of Sirena and what he was going to do to her, he failed to notice he was being followed.

*** 

Sirena heard the crunch of tires in the driveway.  The sound seemed incredibly loud to her, and for a wild moment she felt like jumping up and running for the back door.  She wished to be back in Joshua’s apartment, snuggled up beside his warmth and far, far away from this place of nightmares.  She should have taken her chances and gone along with the plan they'd discussed; heading out of L.A. to the midwest, to Joshua's hometown in Iowa, then to Canada.  She surely had the money they'd need to get away and make a new start....why had she come here?   This was an insane plan.

But then what?  Another day of fear, of running, of hiding?  Of never knowing who on the street was looking for her?  Of the constant worry about Joshua and his friends falling victim to Paul Landry, when all they’d done is try to help her out of the mess she herself had created? 

Sirena slid a hand under the pillow where she’d placed the gun, feeling a ridiculous need to assure herself it was still there.  Willing herself to show a calm she was far from feeling, Sirena heard the sound of a single car door close.  So he had come alone, as she’d instructed.  She heard his footsteps, the brief pause, and then the sound of the front door opening.  Still Sirena sat, waiting.  Any thought of escape she’d had was gone; it was much too late for that now.

A moment later she heard him coming down the hall, slowly, in measured strides.  And then Landry was there, filling the doorway of the bedroom, his eyes darting about warily before settling on her.  His gaze   traveled over her from head to toe.  The expression on his face was one of careful neutrality, which matched his tone when he spoke at last.

“In spite of everything, you fascinate me, my dear.”  He smiled his chilling smile, and Sirena struggled to remain unruffled under his steely regard.  His smile broadened as he stepped inside, the smile that made her insides turn to ice.  “Welcome home, and may I just add that you look lovely tonight.”

“This is not my home,” Sirena said evenly.  “I’m here for a reason.”

“Oh?  And what might that be?”

“To put a stop to this.”  As she spoke, Sirena’s hand slid surreptitiously toward the pillow concealing Joshua’s gun. 

“Interesting,” Landry said.  “But first, what is it you want to put a stop to?”

Her hand slid a further six inches toward the pillow.  “You, Paul.  I'm finished with you."

For a moment Landry could only stare at her; then he laughed, a sound totally devoid of humor.  It was a mocking laugh.  He took a few steps toward her and Sirena’s hand slid further under the pillow, touching cold steel.  "'I'm finished with you!'" he mimicked fiercely in a falsetto voice.  His voice lowered.  "You're finished only when _I_ say you're finished -"his words cut off abruptly as Sirena pulled the gun from under the pillow and aimed it directly at his chest. 

***

Anna was frustrated.  The winding streets of Westwood had confused her, and she’d lost sight of her husband’s car when he’d sped through a yellow light.  She’d been keeping a safe distance behind the Bentley and ended up stuck at the light when it turned red.  Now she drove her Porsche aimlessly, going from one random street to another hoping to spot him.  The rain had begun in earnest, making it even more difficult to see in the darkness.  Ever-increasing, blinding flashes of lightning made her start in surprise.

A speeding yellow sports car ran a red light and nearly collided with her at another intersection and she slammed hard on the brakes with a little gasp.  Some stupid kid, she thought.  In a sudden, impulsive move she couldn't fathom, she took a right, in the direction the yellow car had gone.  She hit the gas and her Porsche sped up.  Within a moment she was right behind the Camaro.

***

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Landry hissed, his eyes never leaving the gun.

“I told you.  I’m putting a stop to this,” Sirena replied.  “That’s all.”  She adjusted her grip on the gun.  Before tonight she’d never held a gun in her life and had no idea if she was even doing it right, but it was having the desired effect.  She saw Landry’s mask slip, and an unguarded expression of genuine fear crossed his face.  It made him almost unrecognizable, younger somehow, and she felt a surge of power.  For once, the bastard was under _her_ control.  She thought of everything Paul Landry had done to her in the several months of their relationship and she felt no remorse at what she was going to have to do.

A bright flash of lightning illuminated the window and the accompanying thunder vibrated the house.  _Melodrama_ , she thought.  Like this scene wasn’t surreal enough already.  Her finger curled around the trigger.

 _The threefold rule!_ An inner voice screamed suddenly.  _Harm none!_   But surely there had to be exceptions to that edict, the Wiccan Rede which she’d always done her best to abide by.  Sirena rose from the bed, keeping the gun leveled on Landry as he peered at the weapon intently.   Her hand holding the gun shook slightly.   He regained some of his composure and sneered, “You’re not going to shoot me.”

“No?” Sirena took a step towards him.

“No.”  Landry’s hand reached into his suit jacket.  “But I, on the other hand –“

***

Joshua raced through the wet streets of Los Angeles, nearly taking out a dark-colored Porsche at one intersection as he ran a red light – not his first - on his way to Sirena’s house.  He was absolutely certain that was where she’d gone to confront Landry.  It would be just like her, to go back to the house she’d been locked up in, the emblematic symbol of how he’d wormed his way into her life and controlled her, and finish things there once and for all. 

His nerves as tight as piano wires, they burst into shreds of panic when he pulled up at Sirena’s house and saw the Bentley parked there.  And someone was outside, going to the front door.  Landry?  He wasn’t too late!  Joshua slid silently from the car and approached warily.  As he got closer he realized the man at the front door wasn’t Landry.  It was a big bald man, walking stiffly, unsteadily, with a decided limp.  The man pushed some buttons on the keypad, opened the front door, then stopped and squinted through the rain at Joshua as he stepped into the circle given off by the front door light.  The man was a mess, with bruises and a bandage on his nose.

“Giorgio?” Joshua said.

“Yuh.  Who the hell are you?”  His words came out slurred, and Joshua could smell alcohol on the man even several feet away as he still was.

“I –“Joshua was saved from answering when a black Porsche pulled into the driveway.  A dark-haired woman got out, looking around nervously.  She hurried over to them.

“Holy shit!” Giorgio uttered when he saw who the new arrival was.  “Ms. D'Amico?”

“Giorgio? What are _you_ doing here?” Anna demanded.  “And where is Paul?  He’s here, isn’t he?  What is going on, and what happened to you?”  A bright streak of lightning and an almost instantaneous clap of thunder punctuated her words.

Giorgio looked dumbfounded and fumbled for a reply.  Joshua watched this exchange and then made a move for the door.  Giorgio, still staring at who Joshua now knew was Landry’s wife, paid him no attention.  Joshua gave the door a little push and stepped inside the house, combing his damp hair from his face with his fingers. 

"Hey!  Where do ya think ya goin'?" Giorgio snarled behind him.  Joshua ignored the man and crossed the living room, looking around.  Giorgio followed, with Anna D’Amico right behind him, still demanding answers from her husband's employee. 

***

The sounds and voices at the front door carried down the hall to Sirena’s bedroom.  “Who’s here?” Landry hissed.  He pulled his snub-nosed revolver from his jacket.  “You bitch, who is here?” 

Sirena took a deep breath and squeezed the trigger.  As the gun roared, another deafening clap of thunder sounded, making the floor beneath her feet vibrate. Landry reeled back, staggering, staring at her incredulously and clutching his shoulder.  “You little cunt –“

She’d only grazed Landry – how could she miss when he was only ten or twelve feet away? – And now she felt genuine, helpless terror.  Sirena bolted for the door, and it burst open in front of her.

 

Joshua raced down the hall as he heard the gunshot.  He flung the bedroom door open and Sirena was there, her eyes wide with fear.  Behind her stood Landry, his face a mask of inhuman rage.  A flash of lightning streaked into the room, and something Landry held in his hand reflected a glint of its light for a split second.  Joshua reached for Sirena, reached for the gun she still clutched in her hand, and the sound of Landry’s gun filled all of his hearing. It roared in Joshua’s ears.  He probably screamed, but he couldn’t tell.  Everything began to happen in slow motion.

A dark watercolor blossom opened on Sirena’s black shirt.  She was hurled forward slowly, so slowly.  Joshua could see in her face the sudden knowledge of what was happening.  There was horror, there was pain.  She fell into his arms. 

Joshua raised his gun and fired at Landry even as he stumbled back.   Landry let out a strangled cry and doubled over.  There were screams behind him.  Joshua turned and lay Sirena down behind him and saw the white, horror-stricken face of Anna D'Amico, and behind her, Giorgio, struggling to hold the woman back.

“You bastard!” Joshua screamed as he rose, turned and fired again.  His shot went wild, as at the same time Landry, who'd regained his balance, aimed, fired and the bullet met its mark, square in Joshua’s chest, exiting out of his back.  Joshua was hurled backward and a large, dark crimson comma appeared on the wall as he slid bonelessly to the floor.  The screams of Anna D’Amico pierced the waves of pain and shock engulfing him.  His lungs felt like they'd suddenly been filled with hot lava.

 

Sirena lay in the bedroom doorway, unable to take a deep breath.  Her entire upper body was agony.  The lower half was gone - no feeling whatsoever.   _The bullet severed my spinal cord_ , she thought distantly.   All that was real to her was the pain she could feel, and the thunder crashing outside.  And now there was something else.  A rumbling, a shaking she could hear as well as feel.  From beginning to end it was only a moment or two but it felt like an eternity.

Distant voices.  “Boss, we gotta get out of here –“

A woman, high and shrill, screaming.  “Oh my God!  You shot them, Paul! And _you’ve_ been shot!  _Who are these people?_   _What the hell is going on?”_

Landry’s voice.  “Gotta get me to a doctor –“

The rumbling beneath Sirena increased in intensity.

“What is that?”

“Quake –“

“Quake –?“

“Paul –“

“Go –!”

Sirena wished they’d shut up.  She closed her eyes, feeling the blood running from her body, the body that flopped around helplessly as the earth below shook.  Disjointedly, she thought Paul would kill her for making a mess on the expensive carpeting he’d put in the house for her. 

Cold.  So cold.  The voices growing distant, blessedly, even as the floor beneath her began to rock crazily.  Sirena summoned her strength and raised her head, peering through the bedroom doorway  At first what she saw didn’t make sense.  A pair of blue-jean clad legs.  Even as she watched, those legs were flung to the side by the force beneath their bodies.

Sirena swallowed hard and tried to scream. “Joshua!”  But her voice was barely above a whisper.  Through red-hot waves of pain she used her arms to slide her body back into the bedroom toward him.  Weak, so weak, and cold.  “Joshua!” this one came out in a gasping sob as she took in the extent of his injuries.  Blood everywhere, soaking his shirt, absorbing into the carpet in a huge pool.    His face was white and still.    _“Joshua!”_ she tried to scream again.

His eyes fluttered open a little and his lips parted.  There was blood behind them. “Hey,” he whispered and smiled.  Blood ran a steady rivulet from the corner of his mouth, but he was smiling at her.

***

“Paul, we can’t just leave them there, they’re _dying_!”  Anna cried as Giorgio yanked her out of the front door and into the storm, which had turned violent, as if in a cosmic reply to the devastation of the earthquake below.

“That’s right, they are,” Landry snapped, his right hand clutching his left shoulder, his left pressed against his midsection.  Blood leaked between his fingers and washed away in the rain.  “And the house is about to collapse.  Now move.  Giorgio, you too.”

“No!” Anna screamed.  “We have to get them out!”  She wrenched herself free.  Giorgio made a grab for her but she dodged him and raced back into the house.  The rotten egg odor of natural gas assailed her nostrils. 

“Our Father, who art in Heaven,” she whispered as she ran toward the bedroom, ignoring Landry’s shouts from outside, "hallowed be Thy Name".  This was an absolute nightmare. 

What would her father say about this?   What _could_ he say?  Killing people was business as usual for men like Sonny D'Amico.  She knew that, had known it all her life.  Why should Paul be any different?  Anna let out a moan as she lost her balance, struck the wall hard, and fell. "Thy Kingdom come, Thy will be done, on earth as it is in Heaven -" she began to crawl the rest of the way.  Just as she had almost reached the injured couple, she heard a creak, a squeal, a rumble, and the walls around her collapsed.  Anna's whispered prayer turned into a screamed one as she realized what was happening.  The unsupported ceiling caved in, crushing her under hundreds of pounds of rubble.  Anna died instantly, with The Lord’s Prayer still on her lips.

***

“Oh, my God, Joshua,” Sirena touched his cold face.  “ _Why...did you do...this?”_ Her whispered sobs racked her pain-filled body.  Around them, the earthquake had stilled to mild tremors.

“Sirena...I.. " Joshua whispered.  She saw the golden brilliance draining from his eyes, the vitality of his life-force leaching out of him and leaving him white and fading.  It sickened her, and she wanted to scream her anguish, her rage, her guilt.  Instead she slid her limp body beside him to hold him in her arms, to protect him as much as she could, though she knew he was long past the point of needing it.  As was she. The pain was galvanizing and she too, felt that same  life-force ebbing from her. "Sirena," he whispered, then was still, frowning a little.  His eyes widened as he felt as well as heard what was coming.  There was a creaking, a squealing, filling the air all around them. It was as if the house was screaming in horrified but resigned protest.  "Oh -"

The house shook hard then, as if a giant had stamped his feet nearby.  Sirena dimly heard things falling and breaking throughout the house, and then the ceiling, the walls, everything was coming down.  She felt nothing of the chunks of wall and ceiling and glass striking and burying her body and Joshua’s, slicing, snapping and crushing bones like kindling; she felt only the coolness of the rain splatter her face as the sky was opened above them.  She heard shouts and screams from a distance and she closed her eyes, waiting for the threatening unconsciousness to take her.  It didn’t.  She heard a woman’s scream very close by that abruptly ceased.

A moment later the world around them was still.  And almost as abruptly, the thunderstorm began to taper off.  “The cards….were right…Joshua….” Sirena whispered, her voice breaking.  She turned her head to face him.  The rain on her face had turned salty.

“Yes,” Joshua said.  The strange bubbling sound that was his breath hitched and she knew he was crying, too.  “It’s...all right.  It’ll...all...be... over soon.”

Sirena felt herself losing her battle for consciousness and struggled against it.  Not yet.  Please, God and Goddess, not yet -  “J-Joshua,” Sirena moaned through the gray shroud starting to blanket her.  The mirror that made up the closet door had shattered, and shards of glass as well as rubble of the walls and ceiling partially covered them both.  She tried to blink and felt the sharp stings of tiny glass fragments embedding themselves in her eyes.  _“Joshua.”_

His eyes opened briefly.  Blood was running in a steady torrent from his mouth and nose now.  “Can’t – breathe,” he choked out. His breath came in shallow, liquid bursts.  He was certain one lung had collapsed, and the other was well on its way.  He knew he was bleeding out - his body was like ice. The rubble covering him made movement impossible, and he knew he had only a minute or two left.  There was no hope of rescue in time, he realized that, too.  He felt Sirena's cold arms holding him, and his were around her, awaiting the unknown oblivion he could see as well as sense now.  He'd failed to save her this time.  His grief at this realization was more agonizing than the pain of his broken body, but he had to be strong for her.  He had to be.  He didn't want her last memory of him to be of anything other than the man she'd convinced him he was.

Sirena felt Joshua tremble.  In a flash, she remembered everything about him, everything that he was, everything he could have and should have been, everything that she loved about him.  Like a series of sped-up movie clips she recalled their meeting when she’d knocked him to the floor.  Their picnic in the park, their first kiss, recording his song, teaching him the ways of Wicca, the rituals and their lovemaking and talking about everything and anything.  Drives in his Camaro, sitting at his house just hours earlier singing “Running Back” for his sister over the phone.  Grief and guilt cut through the gray fog, and Sirena used all the remaining strength she had to speak. 

“Joshua…I love you…and…when you get….to the other side….please…re..remember…me.” She began to make a sound, a low, soft wail of grief at what they’d lost, as she, like Joshua, faced the victory of mortality over the magick that had been theirs for all too brief a time.  She was fading, fading fast, and so was he.  “I’m so..sorry…and scared…scared, Joshua…so…scared…”

Joshua managed another smile for her, though his own tears fell. Through the darkness he saw his own grief reflected in her terrified, agonized eyes.  “Don’t…be sorry…or scared.  I’m w-with…you…I will,” he whispered. His heart, which had beat steadily for exactly twenty one years and eight months, began to stutter.

 It was time.  He summoned his last breath to finish his words.  “I will…always…remember…” his breath caught and his eyes squinted shut suddenly, as the waves of pain reached a crescendo. A final freshet of blood flowed from between his lips.  “I love…you…” his voice trailed off.  The rapid rise and fall of his chest and the labored and bubbling sound of his breathing ceased.  A sense of floating enveloped him and all of the pain vanished like a puff of wind, suffusing him with a sudden peace.  As he went, he heard and felt her anguished cries fade as she joined him, knowing now it was all right to let go. 

And together Joshua Tremont and Sirena Welsh stepped into the beckoning darkness.

***


	11. Chapter 11

 

 

At that moment three hundred and forty miles away in a San Jose hospital, a frightened young woman moaned and clutched at her swollen abdomen with one hand, grasping her husband’s hand in the other.  The pains were coming quicker now, and since this was her second child, she knew the baby’s time had come ‘round at last.   The labor and delivery nurse examined the woman and confirmed it, hurrying out of the room to notify the doctor and hoping she'd find him in time.

 A powerful earthquake had disrupted the entire hospital, the power had gone out and the hospital’s generator had taken over, allowing business to proceed as usual, more or less.  But the facility was in chaos.  Just her luck, the young woman thought.  Giving birth during an earthquake.  Not only an earthquake, but a huge one; nearly an eight-pointer, she'd learn a few hours later while watching the morning news.  A devastating earthquake, centered between San Jose and Los Angeles.

“Oh –“she cried out as the strongest contraction yet galvanized her.  The father to be stroked his wife’s sweat-dampened hair reassuringly, encouraging her to breathe through the pain.  To which the laboring mother hissed uncharacteristically, "I _am_ breathing, you idiot!" 

An hour later, a moderate aftershock struck just as the baby boy was born, healthy, squalling, and immediately named.

“Nicholas Joshua Groff,” the new mother whispered to her first son as he was handed to her by the nurse.  “Welcome to the world.  Quite a dramatic entrance, too.”  She looked up at her husband who was beaming with pride and love, eyes shiny with unshed tears, the quake now completely forgotten.  “Look at him – doesn’t he look so alert and aware?”

“He sure does.  He’s so beautiful,” the father said, touching his son’s fine hair.  The baby blinked and continued to stare with dark, piercing eyes at his parents.  “He’s absolutely beautiful.”

And he was.

 


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I'm very well aware that I've taken creative liberties with Nick's real life today (wife, kids, etc) and Nick's childhood (places, times, etc) as well as Aaron's (he didn't actually attend UNLV) but I did so for the purposes of the story..some changes were obviously necessary, and others because they suited my story. I know, for instance, that Nick didn't only live in Salem, NH growing up, and I believe I changed the year he graduated high school but I did that for continuity reasons, and again, because changing these details served to fit my story. Hope y'all understand! :D

 

Memories up to the day of the accident were vague and generally happy blurs. There was Mommy, soft and kind, always there, with her special scent and special touch. Daddy, bigger and strong, always laughing and joking. There was Diana, his older sister, who took a liking to teasing him – whenever his parents’ backs were turned, that is. He loved them all very much, and in turn, Nick had made their family complete.

Nick had no recollection of living in San Jose – the family relocated to the opposite end of the country in New Hampshire when he was very young. His father had taken a job in Boston, a very good job, and there was no question about moving. So Salem, New Hampshire it was, about forty-five minutes from the city, and there Nick grew from an infant into a sturdy toddler, then an active schoolboy.

He was still very young when his parents noticed some peculiarities about their second born. The first was when Nick, then three, was taking a nap on the couch one afternoon. His mother checked on him, then turned the little portable kitchen TV on to “General Hospital” to watch while she did the dishes. Nick was a rather sound sleeper, so she turned the volume up so she could hear it as she worked.

The storyline was a convoluted one that had been keeping Mrs. Groff riveted for months and it culminated that day in a dramatic, if a tad unrealistic, killing of the bad guy by one of her favorite characters, Robert Scorpio. The gunshots rang out from the speaker on the television, and, in the next room, Nick began screaming.

His mother dropped the pan she’d been scrubbing and raced to her son, who was sitting up, wide-eyed with terror.   “Nick, honey, what is it?” his mother soothed. “A bad dream?” She didn’t like the look in his eyes; it was almost as if he wasn’t her little Nick anymore. His hazel-brown eyes – so unlike hers or her husband’s or even his sister’s, causing her husband to tease her about mailmen and milkmen – were far away, somewhere else entirely, and far older than the rest of him.

 _“’S-s-s-reeeeeenaaaaaa!!!!”_ he shrieked, and began to sob.

“What? What did you say?”” his mother picked him up and he struggled, kicking, striking at her with his little fists. She felt the warmth through her shirt as Nick’s bladder let go.

Nick continued to cry and his mother took him to her favorite rocker-recliner, the soap opera and dishes forgotten. Sitting there, she rocked him, rubbing his back until his sobs eased into hiccups and moans. He was nearly asleep again when she heard him speak once more.

“Always…’member…” he mumbled, his head resting on his mother’s shoulder. His steady breathing followed, and she knew he was asleep again.   Carefully she stood and lay her son back on the couch. Hurrying to his room for a change of clothes and then the bathroom for a washcloth, she wondered what on earth he had dreamed about. The pediatrician had talked about the occurrence of night terrors in children Nick’s age, but Diana had never had one, and until now Nick hadn’t, either.

Carefully she undressed the boy and wiped the urine from him, then put his clean clothes on. Covering him with his blanket again, Mrs. Groff discarded Nick’s wet clothing in the laundry hamper, went to her room, got a clean shirt, and then cleaned herself up in the bathroom. She made a mental note to mention the episode to Nick’s pediatrician at his next visit.

 

***

That summer the family attended the elaborate fireworks show in Boston for the Fourth of July. There had been a fair, a picnic, live music, and a wonderful time was had by all.  Until the fireworks began.

Settling amongst the huge crowd on a blanket as darkness fell, the Groffs waited eagerly for the show and from the first booming firework explosion, Nick began screaming uncontrollably. He covered his ears and curled up in a terrified, shaking ball, his piercing voice increasing in volume with each blast. His parents did their best to soothe him but he fought their attempts to hold and comfort him, and they finally had to leave, much to Diana’s disappointment. She glared at her wailing little brother in her father’s arms as they made their way through the crowd to the parking lot.

“He’s such a baby,” she grumbled. “I wanna watch the fireworks, but no, the little brat ruins it and we have to go! Why’d we even _bring_ him? He screams about _everything_ , shooting on TV, fireworks, thunderstorms, he’s so _stupid!_ “

“Di,” her mother warned.

“But mom, it’s not fair!” Diana complained.

“Di,” her father chimed in, “Hush. Nick will outgrow it and maybe next year when he’s a little older it won’t be so bad.”

“Yeah, next year. Always next year. Always ‘ _when he’s a little older’_ ”.

“Well, you can watch the fireworks as we walk to the car, Di. It _will_ get better when Nick’s older.”

But it didn’t get better, and then, the accident when Nick was eight –

Something had happened to him in that inky blackness he’d gone to when he’d been unconscious, though he never wanted to speak of it, or perhaps he was unable to. When Nick recovered, he was a different child in subtle but noticeable ways.   His eyes took on a different look, his mannerisms changed. Where once he’d been outgoing and curious, he was now somewhat withdrawn and quiet. He loved photography, loved music of all kinds and often spent hours listening to CDs while boys his age played soccer, baseball, rode their bikes around the neighborhood, and played in the playground near their house.  He made some friends at school, and even hosted and went to sleepovers, but by age twelve it was clear Nick preferred his own company to that of his peers. He was different. He knew he was different.  What no one could figure out, including Nick Groff himself, was _why_ he was different.

One day when he was about twelve his mother came home and found that Nick had dug up an old record player from the basement and was listening to one of her old Tramp albums. He was laying on his bedroom floor, propped up on his elbows, studying the album cover intently.

“Nick? Honey, what are you doing?” His mother asked from the doorway.

Nick glanced up, and for a split second she saw that muddy, faraway look in his eyes before it faded. “Hi, mom.”

His mother smiled. “You like my old music?”

Nick nodded. “Yeah. She’s really great.”

“She was. She’s dead now,” his mother told him.

Nick was silent a moment, gazing at the album cover again. On it, Tramp’s lead singer Sirena Welsh was dressed in white, a flowing gypsy-style dress with layers and layers of sheer fabric. She was sitting on an elaborate, jeweled litter cushioned in red velvet, which the rest of the band, dressed in black, was carrying on their shoulders. In the background was the Great Pyramid of Egypt. In Sirena’s hands she held a dove, but instead of gray or white, the bird was a lavender color.

Sirena Welsh had died tragically the night of the 1980 earthquake – the night Nick was born, in fact. Her death was an event that was still shrouded in mystery all these years later, right up there with the death of Jim Morrison of The Doors. Nick’s mother didn’t know how much her son knew about the incident, and decided not to mention the details. Nick was an extremely sensitive child to stories of violence, even as a teenager.

Nick’s voice was very quiet when he finally answered, “yeah.” He got up to start the record again.

Diana had taken to calling him _the weirdo, the creep, the freak._ As Nick’s withdrawal continued, his worried parents took him to a child psychologist, who pronounced him perfectly normal, though somewhat withdrawn for his age. He still had a bad reaction to sudden loud sounds such as explosions, and that same year it was recommended that Nick’s father take him to a gun range and let him fire a pistol to confront his fear.

It was a mistake. The sound of gunshots around them made Nick flinch and recoil. His father took a couple of shots at the paper target, let Diana take her turn, and then held the weapon out to his son. “See?” his dad said. “It’s not a big deal. Go ahead, give it a try.”

Nick stared at the weapon in his father’s hand like it was a rattlesnake poised to strike.

“Go on and try it,” his dad repeated.

"Chicken," Diana sneered at her brother.

"Di," her father warned.  "Stop it."

Nick swallowed hard, determined to prove to his sister he was not a chicken.  Not a weirdo.  Not a freak.  He reached out a trembling hand and his father placed the .22 pistol in it.  Instantly he began seeing flashes of images before him, in black and white, like a bad movie print. Voices began to speak.

_“Go on and try it –“a different voice echoed in encouragement._

_“Good shot, kid, you’re a natural!”_

_“We the jury ....guilty...murder in the second degree -"_

_Another time. Another place. The monster. Eyes lit with rage, yet those eyes were soulless, empty. A murderous unfeeling monster poised to strike._

_Flashes of light, like lightning, taking the color out of his vision, leaving him with images like bad film print. Roaring thunder, rolling above and from the very ground beneath his feet._

_The terror in the large, dark eyes of the beautiful girl. Terror that became agony with a single blast._

_The explosions, so deafening. A scream – a name? - tearing from his throat._

_The sound of gunshots filling his ears, something slamming into his chest, tearing through him._

_Thrown against something solid and unyielding._

_His chest burning with a terrible heat._ _The blood in his mouth, its hot coppery taste filling his senses, the blood, the blood, everywhere the blood_ – _and her cries – tortured and agonized, filled with fear and guilt– her beautiful dark eyes locked on his –_

_“Remember me –“_

Nick dropped the gun from his numb hands and backed away, white-faced and trembling.

“Nick!” His father shook him urgently. “What is it?”

Nick blinked several times. He shook his head to clear it and stared at his father. “What?”

“What’s the matter with you?” his father questioned, his face etched with an odd mix of concern and impatience.

“Nothing,” Nick replied in a mumble. The images and sounds and words were gone, vanished from his consciousness like a passing puff of wind. “I’m fine.”

“You dropped a loaded gun, Nick. Do you know how _dangerous_ that is?”

“Do you know how dangerous _guns_ are, dad?” Nick responded angrily. “I don’t want to do this. I want to go home.”

Diana, who’d been watching the entire thing silently, scoffed and muttered, “Freak.”

“Di, that’s enough!” Mr. Groff snapped at his daughter. He stared at his son a moment, then shook his head and sighed, picking up the weapon. “All right, Nick. I’m not going to make you do it.”

***

A few more years passed. More rounds with a therapist, sandwiched between his parents who discussed him like he wasn’t even in the room, first talking about the fugue state he’d gone into at the gun range, the dreams that he awoke from in tears. He couldn’t recall them, though somehow he knew they weren’t always terrifying nightmares. Still, the dreams usually kept him awake the remainder of the night _trying_ to remember them.

Then there was his fixation with the full moon – his desire to sit outside under the full moon on a clear night was a monthly occurrence that started around the same time as the incident with the gun. He would just sit staring at it, regardless of the temperature outside at the time. He would go outside and sit still as a statue, just staring at the moon. His parents were at a loss. He was a perfectly normal, well-behaved boy; almost _too_ well behaved, they thought - Diana was far more of a handful as a teenager than Nick was – except for these odd behaviors.

The doctors all pronounced him cognitively normal, with a higher-than-average IQ. He wasn’t autistic. He did not have Attention Deficit Disorder; he wasn’t schizophrenic or bipolar or any of the other labels they usually were quick to slap on kids these days. He did not drink, do drugs, fight, or steal. He was a good student. They diagnosed him mildly depressed, perhaps, but what teenager wasn’t from time to time? They posited the theory that Nick may be suffering from a condition that was now being studied in-depth among war veterans and victims of abuse; a condition called Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, stemming from his near-death experience at age eight. The Groffs decided that made about as much sense as anything and were grateful to have an explanation to latch onto. There was no medicinal treatment for such a condition, however. But, the therapist explained, the episodes would likely lessen in time as Nick matured into adulthood.

The therapist did recommend Nick take a mild sedative to help him sleep if the dreams got to be too much. It seemed to help; he had only one or two more episodes his senior year in high school, and then they were gone, even after Nick stopped taking the medication. Apparently he had finally outgrown them. He still couldn’t stand the sound of guns or fireworks though, and he still would sit outside under the full moon one night each month, going into a strange trancelike state for up to a half an hour each time.

In 1997, Nick graduated from high school and that fall he entered a local college to work on his general education requirements for the major he’d chosen - Film. He began dating, something he hadn’t bothered with much in high school. His first serious girlfriend was a beautiful blonde girl named Vicky Schroeder. The relationship lasted six months; four months into it she took his nineteen year old virginity in the back of his newly acquired Impala after a dinner and movie date. It was an uncomfortable, messy and undignified experience.

Nick sensed Vicky’s disappointment with his fumbling performance – she certainly hadn’t been a virgin even if he was. The next time was better; this time in his dorm room with the requisite towel hanging on the doorknob outside - the universal collegiate “do not disturb” sign. After that magical night, they spent a number of hours rolling around on his narrow dorm bed where she taught him a thing or two about women.

But the most important lesson Vicky imparted on him came a couple of months later when she unceremoniously dumped him for the star forward on another college’s basketball team. He was devastated for a time, but recovered, and began to go out with a number of girls. No one permanent; he now understood that girls said one thing, meant something else entirely, and were not to be trusted.  Girls were not a problem for Nick; he took his pick, and did.  He'd grown and filled out from a short, skinny, awkward teenager into a handsome young man - just over six feet tall, muscular without added bulk, with large hazel-brown eyes and a great smile. 

In 1999, Nick applied and was accepted into the University of Las Vegas School of Film. Documentaries had always appealed to him, as did photography, and everything about the art of filmmaking. He packed up and left the East Coast, setting off for the desert southwest with a thousand bucks in his pocket and plenty of ambition.

His parents indulged his wish, though his mother voiced the opinion that Nick would probably realize that it wasn’t the sure-fire career he seemed determined to make it out to be. Yes, he had an eye for photography and filmmaking; had taken it up as a hobby as a kid when he was recovering from his fall from the tree and never gave it up.   Each Christmas brought him newer and high-tech gadgets, then later, editing software.  He spent hours at it.  But making a living out of it? She supported her son’s choice, as did his father, but they agreed it would only be a matter of time before Nick returned to a more sensible career path.

 

Nick assimilated into Vegas life uneasily, throwing himself into his studies. The city unnerved him for some reason he couldn’t fathom. It was fast-paced, hedonistic and gauche, true, but that wasn’t what bothered him. He couldn’t pinpoint what it was that did, though.

His new good friend agreed, though his discomfort with Vegas had a clear-cut reason. Hailing from Portland, Oregon, Aaron Goodwin, a fellow film student, came from a Baptist family and the sights and sounds of Sin City were a bit of an assault on his conservative, religious sensibilities. He had arrived two years earlier, working at Hard Rock Café and Applebee’s and enrolling in UNLV’s film school.

The two of them became inseparable, working on class projects together and generally hanging out. They were opposites in build – Nick was lean and lanky, Aaron tall and husky. Nick was quiet, Aaron was clown-like, outgoing and loved nothing more than outrageous practical jokes. Socially awkward, Nick hadn’t had many friends growing up, but relished this friendship with Aaron. And Aaron, whose gregarious personality always garnered him many friends, had no trouble naming Nick Groff as his best friend.

It was Aaron that Nick first confided in about what he called his “trips” – the flashes of faces, events, and voices that would creep in his dreams sometimes, and how the sound of gunshots and other explosives set it off as well when he was awake. They were in Nick’s apartment working on the script of a short film project one Saturday afternoon when Nick just opened up and told him everything he could remember.

“Sounds bizarre,” Aaron mused when Nick finished. “The same stuff every time?”

“Generally, yeah,” Nick told him. “There was always this really beautiful blonde girl. At least I think she was, I’ve never been able to make out her face except her eyes. She had these huge, dark eyes. She’s hurt, dying, maybe. She speaks to me but I can’t remember what she says. And there’s this guy. I used to think he was a monster when I was little.”

“A monster, huh? Why?”

Nick shrugged. “I don’t know. He was tall, black hair, dressed in black, and had these gray eyes without a soul behind them. Y’know what I mean?” When Aaron didn’t answer, he continued, “I’d look at him and all I could see is death all around him. I’d hear gunshots. I’d _feel_ it. Then I’d taste blood, and wake up out of the trip. Sometimes, when they were really bad, I could still taste the blood even after I woke up.

“Other times, the dreams aren’t scary at all. It’s just the girl, speaking to me. All I can really remember is her eyes, and she’s speaking to me. That’s it.”

“Do you still have these dreams?” Aaron wanted to know.

Nick shook his head. “Not in a really long time, no.” He laughed a little. “My sister called me a freak.  My parents thought I was nuts. Took me to doctors and shrinks and everything.” He paused, and added, “Oh, yeah.  Then there’s the moon.”

Aaron frowned. “The moon?”

“The full moon. Something about the full moon. I can’t explain it, Aaron, but it’s connected to all of this, somehow.” Nick shook his head. “Sometimes when I look up at the full moon I hear her voice again. I think she’s asking me something. I think she’s asking me to remember her, but I’m not sure. Anyway, I don’t know why I told you all of this. I’ve never really told anyone about it before.”

“Why not? Maybe someone could help you figure it out.”

Nick glanced at Aaron. “Maybe that someone is you.”

“Me? I’m no dream interpreter,” Aaron laughed. “If I didn’t know better I’d say you were on some good drugs.” He gave Nick a friendly punch on the arm. “Anyway, we need to finish the first draft of this script and give it to Steed tomorrow so we gotta get back to work on it. So…. _Criminal Conversations_. What do you think of it so far?”

“I love it, but count me out of doing anything in front of the camera on this one. I think you can figure out why.” Nick shook his head. “I can’t hold a gun, even a fake one.” He shivered almost unperceptively.

“Naw, Nick. I’ll talk to Steed, and he and I can do all the acting. I’m sure he’ll be fine with that.”

“Okay. I’ll rent the hood mount camera tomorrow, because we’ll have to drive around and get a feel for how it’ll work. How to deal with shadows and stuff, y’know.” Nick felt renewed enthusiasm for the final project he, Aaron and Aaron’s friend - another film student named Triston "Steed" Corulla – had decided to collaborate on. When Steed had first mentioned it, Nick had balked, especially when Steed said they’d be carrying guns. But if all he had to do is film the bank robbery scene, he was more than game.  He was always far more comfortable behind the camera lens, anyway.

“All right then!” Aaron grinned. And the two boys got back to work.


	13. Chapter 13

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

 

Only a few miles from the small apartment where Nick Groff and Aaron Goodwin spent their Saturday afternoon and evening on their final film project, the man stood at the floor-to ceiling window of his penthouse apartment, which was the entire top floor of The D'Landro Hotel. He gazed out at the fairyland of lights that was his home; Las Vegas, City of Sin, City of Excess, City where anything can and usually did happen. Take him, for example. He’d made it all the way to the top with hard work and smart decisions.

And a little help from friends. Of course.

He couldn’t help but think about where he’d be now if he hadn’t carefully cultivated associates in many different walks of life, including law enforcement. Bribery got you almost anywhere, and when all else failed, there was always a little blackmail, and Landry had used both in the aftermath of the night Sirena Welsh, Joshua Tremont, and his own wife died. Instead of looking at the beautiful city he practically owned now, Paul Landry might be looking at the bars of a San Quentin jail cell had he not had the resources at his fingertips that he had.

Landry allowed himself a moment to think of his late wife, Anna. The shock of his only child’s death had sent Sonny D’Amico in a screaming ambulance all the way to Desert Springs Hospital, where he later succumbed to a massive coronary. Anna had been his only heir. In turn, Anna had left roughly half of her estate to her church and her charity work, the remainder to Landry himself.   The will had been complicated, but his lawyers had done an outstanding job of getting Landry all he was entitled to, including the hotel now below his feet, which he’d renamed The D'Landro; a combination of D’Amico and Landry. He felt it was a fitting tribute to the old man and his own late wife.

He’d mourned for a suitable time while his associates feverishly worked to ensure Landry was never implicated in the deaths of Sirena Welsh and Joshua Tremont. By the time their job was done, it was easily concluded that Joshua had killed Sirena in a fit of jealousy, then himself.   Landry had wiped his prints off his gun and left it there as he, Anna, and Giorgio had departed the house. The news loved a famous death; especially a murder-suicide.  The press and tabloids ate it up.

But Anna’s presence in the house was a complication. That, Landry knew, wouldn’t be so easy to explain, and he’d ordered her body removed from the rubble immediately.  Why the hell had she followed him to Sirena’s house in the first damn place? It was her own fault she’d gotten killed, Landry reasoned, but of course he couldn’t tell her father that. Instead, he claimed Anna died during the quake when she’d rushed to check on her office and got into an accident in her Porsche during an aftershock. The police verified the story. In all the chaos after the earthquake, setting up _that_ scenario had been all too easy, and no one – Sonny D’Amico or the authorities – knew anything different.  He'd thrown her a magnificent funeral and assumed the role of the grieving widower.

There were two things that had bothered him since that night in 1980. One, Joshua Tremont’s car had vanished. Landry had gone to the hospital to get his gunshot wounds treated – he’d gone to Linda Vista on the East side where he knew questions wouldn’t be asked, while Giorgio and two more of Landry’s men returned to Westwood to retrieve Anna’s body from the collapsed house.  Anna's Porsche was still there, but the front half of the garage had collapsed on it.  The bright yellow Camaro, which had been parked on the street when they'd left just a couple of hours earlier, was gone.

Then there was the second unsettling thing; the day he left the hospital, Landry paid a visit to Sweetfire Studios to collect the master copies of _Lavender,_ only to discover they’d gone missing.  Edward Sweet had been injured when his condominium building took a hard hit and he was in the hospital recovering from a head injury and a broken leg, so Landry knew it wasn’t Edward that took the masters. The studio was relatively undamaged in the quake, but the power had gone out everywhere. In that part of Hollywood it had taken three days to restore it. Easy pickings for the looters, who’d come out like a plague of cockroaches. The strange thing was, the master copies of _Lavender_ were the only things missing from a place chock-full of expensive equipment and hundreds of other artists’ works.

It was definitely unsettling.

But as time wore on, Landry began to relax. As the city got back on its feet, he began making plans of his own. With Sonny D’Amico’s death, Landry's plans, crystal clear from the start, began to come to fruition. He would leave Los Angeles. He would go to Las Vegas. He would assume his rightful place as Sonny D’Amico’s heir. He would take over Vegas from his throne high above the city lights. And that’s exactly what Paul Landry did.

He looked away from the window and picked up his phone.

A woman answered.

“I request two girls. Blondes, the both of them. Not dyed blondes, I want natural blondes. I want them here within the hour.”

“Of course, Mr. Landry,” Naomi Black, the most exclusive madam in Vegas told her highest-paying client. “I have just the right two young ladies in mind.”

“Good. I expect the best.”

“And that is exactly what you shall have, Mr. Landry,” Naomi assured him.

Once his evening’s entertainment had been arranged, Landry showered and applied various lotions to his body, then surveyed himself in the full length mirror in his dressing room.

He liked what he saw. He might be in his mid-sixties, and his midnight black hair was a touch more silver than black these days, but at least it was still there; no bald spots or receding hairline for Paul Landry. Thanks to the full equipped fitness center, running track and Olympic-sized swimming pool in The D’Landro, he’d religiously taken care of his body despite his occasional excesses, and didn’t look a day over fifty. Maybe even forty-five.  His libido hadn't aged with his body, something he was very grateful for.  No Viagra for Paul Landry.  Dressing in a silk robe, he returned to his living room, lit a cigar, and awaited the arrival of his evening’s entertainment.

Two hours later, the two blondes left the penthouse suite, purses full with cash. Paul Landry was an excellent paying customer indeed. If he tended to get a little rough, if he got his kicks humiliating and degrading a woman, well, whatever got him off got them paid. They’d performed well; stripping, strutting around the luxurious bedroom in only their heels, getting on all fours as he ravaged them from behind, one after the other, then ordered them to make love to each other while he watched and stroked himself…they’d done it all, and knew their services would be requested again soon. Neither looked forward to the prospect, but that was the business. You had to take the bad along with the good.

Paul showered again after the girls left, lotioned himself down once more, masturbated, and slid between silk sheets, a satisfied smile on his lips.

Women. They were all the same. All of them whores. Every single one of them would do anything for money, however classy, however proper they were. He’d bedded the devoted wives of politicians, the devoted wives of his friends and business associates. They’d all had a price, of course, and he enjoyed finding out what that price was, and meeting it. Once he’d bedded them, he lost interest; the thrill was the chase, after all.

None of them presented the same kind of challenge that the late Sirena Welsh had, though. For a moment he thought of Sirena; thought of her face, her body, her hair, her dark gypsy eyes, her youth, her free spiritedness, and felt a slight pang of regret that it had ended the way it had. She was the one woman in his life besides his wife that he couldn’t truly buy, and the one woman on earth who’d excited the hell out of him in bed beyond their first delicious encounter. It really was a shame she’d been a stupid unfaithful bitch; a whore, just like all women. It had gotten her killed. Her and her little punk boyfriend. Landry scowled to himself all over again at the memory.

Sirena. Good riddance. And as he drifted off, he wondered again what the hell had happened to the master copies of her unreleased album all those years ago.  They were worth a fortune.

***

“A wedding, huh?” Nick said. “Whose?”

“Oh, a buddy of mine,” Aaron said.  “He and his girl are tying the knot this weekend. They’re having a big reception afterward. Free drinks, music, why not?”

“I don’t know….Nick sighed, not relishing the idea of it. “I won’t know anyone but you.”

“Well, how do you expect to get to know anyone if you don’t go out once in a while and meet people?” Aaron reasoned. “Might even meet a girl there, who knows? My buddy’s sister Janie is single –“

“No matchmaking,” Nick groaned. “I can find my own dates, thank you very much.”

“Yeah. I can see that,” Aaron commented with friendly sarcasm. “Come on, dude.   Oh, and Steed wanted us to come over tonight. Watch the film and hang out, have a few beers.”

“Now that sounds like a plan,” Nick agreed. “Has he forgiven me about not informing the cops before we filmed?”

Aaron laughed uproariously. “That was one major fuckup, dude.”

It was. _Criminal Conversations_ had been filmed without a hitch, at least up till Aaron and Steed went into the bank with masks on, brandishing guns. Nick had secured permission from the bank to allow Aaron and Steed to enter (only into the entry that housed a row of ATMs, not the lobby itself) as if they were going in to rob the place. All the employees were aware of the project. Only one slight problem – Nick had forgotten to notify Las Vegas police. A woman spotted the two masked armed young men and did the only thing a concerned citizen would do – she grabbed her cell and called the cops, frantically telling them the bank was being robbed.

The drama that ensued was something else. And standing outside as cops, FBI, and a SWAT team descended, all armed to the teeth, Nick had another one of his “trips,” the first in quite some time. Thank God he’d told Aaron about them and his phobia of guns, so Aaron knew what was happening to him when it struck. And thank God Nick had come around in time to speak to the authorities and the bank president, who’d hurried outside to assure the police it was not a real robbery but a project that three students were shooting. Steed, handcuffed and thrown into the back of a squad car along with Aaron, had been furious with Nick for neglecting to cover that rather important base – notifying the authorities - but as Aaron told him, all’s well that ends well. No one actually got arrested, and the film was finished.

They’d gotten an A on the project, and Nick graduated from UNLV with High Honors.

 

That night they watched it back, had a laugh or two over the near- disaster due to Nick’s negligence, then Nick spotted something in the corner of Steed’s living room.

“You play guitar?” he asked Steed.

“Eh, used to, a little. I just keep it around in case I have company who plays. Why? Do you play?”

“No,” Nick answered. “Never actually tried. I love music – as a listener.” He kept staring at the guitar, a vintage Gibson acoustic. “Can I check it out, though?”

“Sure,” Steed agreed. He went to the corner of the room, picked up the instrument, and handed it to Nick by its neck.

Nick sat down and held it carefully. He lightly strummed with his right hand and frowned. Automatically his left went to the keys and began turning them, playing each string as he went.

“Yeah, those tune the strings –“Steed trailed off. He frowned, realizing Nick _was_ tuning it. “Hey. I thought you said you never played.”

“I haven’t.” Nick was frowning too, in concentration. Aaron sat silent, watching. Nick’s eyes had taken on a strange look – a little like they had that day they’d filmed _Criminal Conversations,_ but Nick showed no sign of freaking out this time. He just looked – different. Far away. Younger. Nick strummed the guitar again, and quietly said, “You got a pick, Steed?”

Steed and Aaron exchanged a puzzled look. “Yeah,” Steed said slowly. He went to the corner where the guitar had stood and dug around in a drawer at the table there. He brought the pick to Nick, who took it from him absently.

What happened next was something neither Aaron nor Steed would forget. Nick began to play the guitar. Not perfectly; his left fingers were uncalloused and he couldn’t bear down properly enough on the Gibson’s tough strings, but as he picked up speed it was clear to Steed that Nick knew his way around a guitar, all right. Meanwhile Aaron sat, slack jawed, as Nick began the intro to The Eagles’ “Hotel California” flawlessly. And then, just as suddenly, he stopped playing, and handed the guitar back to Steed. “Nice axe,” he smiled self-consciously. He looked like Nick again, Aaron thought. Obviously he’d gone off on another of what he called his “trips”.

“Why’d you say you’ve never played the guitar? It’s pretty obvious you play,” Steed said, putting the guitar back in the corner.

“No, I don’t,” Nick responded.

“Well, what the hell was _that_ then?” Steed demanded.

“I-I don’t know,” Nick muttered, a little red-faced. “But I swear I’ve never played guitar before.” He looked at Aaron then, his expression a little pleading and helpless.

Aaron caught the look and shrugged. “Maybe he’s just one of those…ah…what do they call them? One of those savant type guys. It happens.”

“Like _Rain Man_. Yeah,” Steed laughed, but he was staring at Nick like he wasn’t sure he was a good idea.

“Can we _please_ talk about something else?” Nick asked. That pleading expression was still there. He rose from the couch. “I’m ready for a beer. You guys?”

“Yeah,” Aaron agreed. “Steed?”

Steed was still staring at Nick. “Uh, sure,” he said slowly.

Nick hurried to the kitchen and once alone, gripped the edge of the counter and shook his head. The second he’d touched Steed’s guitar, it had happened, one of the strongest “trips” yet. Not the terrifying nightmarish one, either. This was a new one he’d never had before, and this one didn’t fade, leaving him with nothing but a gray fog of memory. This one he remembered.

_The guitar in his hands, the guitar like Steeds but this guitar was his, his fingers so sure on the strings, evoking beautiful music from the instrument with seemingly no effort at all. And the girl, her beautiful face – crystal clear at last and familiar…so familiar…, the girl was sitting beside him, her dark eyes shining as she sang into the mic, then his own voice joined hers –_

And just like that the vision faded and he was back in Steed’s living room, his friends staring at him like he was some kind of freak.

Nick let go of the counter and took three beers from the fridge, his mind whirling. After so many dormant years, the “trips” were returning. Why? Why now? And what did it mean?

Nick Groff was getting genuinely scared.


	14. Chapter 14

Zak Bagans had been a deejay for a while and liked the job.  Well, it paid the bills at least, and sometimes he met interesting people, went to interesting venues.  He got to play music and not do much of anything else.  All in all it was a pretty good gig, though not his passion.  He hadn’t yet had the opportunity to indulge in that; but he was saving every spare dollar he could and things were looking good for the venture later in the year.  He just needed to find a partner or two who’d be willing and able to go in on it with him.  Not just as partners, though; he needed smart, capable people with plenty of technical savvy, and as fascinated with the subject as he.  It was a tall order, and one he hadn’t yet been able to fill.

On this particular night Zak was the deejay for a wedding reception in his new hometown of Las Vegas.  The D’Landro Hotel’s ballroom was decked out in fine style; it was clear immediately that the parents of the groom had spared very little expense in throwing this reception.  The hotel, food and drinks were all top-notch, and Zak was enjoying himself immensely even though it was, technically at least, work.  He’d quoted an enormous fee and, to his surprise, was paid every dollar up front, in cash.

Zak had provided an extensive song list.  This couple was pretty middle-of-the-road, requesting the usual wedding reception music along with current and classic dance songs.  Zak played them all and observed the action on the floor from his position behind the sound system. 

 

The wedding itself had been nice.  But the reception….it was only his promise to Aaron that got Nick through the door.  From the moment Aaron had handed the valet his keys and they’d stood outside on The Strip facing The D’Landro Hotel, he’d been experiencing feelings of disquiet.  Once they entered the hotel itself, those feelings worsened.  They made their way through the archway and into the ballroom where they were greeted with a throng of wedding guests jiving about on the large dance floor, and several more sitting and standing around the perimeter.   Aaron spotted the bar and steered Nick toward it, telling him, “Come on, man.  Lighten up and let’s have a good time!”

Nick sighed.  Once they reached the bar, he loosened his tie and ordered a Patron with a lime twist from the hovering bartender. 

He knew absolutely nobody there except Aaron, and Aaron was already busy scouting the room for girls.  Nick downed the tequila in one gulp, signaling the bartender for another.  He sighed again.  Getting trashed would probably be the only way to get through the night.

 

***

 

The evening wore on.  Aaron was out dancing with one girl after another in his own unique style while Nick observed the scene from the bar.  He _was_ loosening up a little, and even managed to make polite conversation with a brunette who’d approached him, asking him to dance.  Nick obliged her, then returned to the bar with the girl in tow.

She told him her name was Misty, she was a twenty-two year old nursing student from Cleveland, and was a friend of the groom’s family.  Nick nodded and replied in all the right places, all the while looking at the time and wondering when they would leave.  The feeling of unease hadn’t let up, even after three strong drinks.  But Aaron didn’t give any indication that he was going anywhere.  Between his dancing with several girls and chatting it up with the bride and groom, it looked as though they were there for the duration. 

Nick considered leaving Aaron there and cabbing it home.  The dress shirt he was wearing was uncomfortable; not to mention the tie.  He longed for a pair of basketball shorts and a tank.  He longed to be home in front of his Mac or the TV.

Misty was staring at him, and Nick realized she’d asked him a question.  “I’m sorry?” he said.

“I said, would you like to dance again?” she asked, with a note of impatience.

“Sure,” Nick agreed, and they returned to the dance floor to Maroon Five’s “This Love.”  Nick made all the right moves while his mind wandered.  He thought about the “trips” that were returning; they’d been happening almost daily since that night with the guitar at Steed’s house.  He thought about finding a doctor who could give him answers once and for all.  He was now certain that there was something very wrong with him. 

The thought that he might actually be schizophrenic, or perhaps might have a multiple personality type of disorder had crossed Nick’s mind.  What then?  He would never be able to have a normal life, at least not without intensive help from a professional.  Nobody but Aaron seemed able to look past this part of him.  Even Steed had been avoiding him since that night at his house with the guitar. 

He remembered a date long ago with Vicky Schroeder, when he’d gone into a fugue state during a full moon and how within a week she’d been history.   He remembered his parents, dragging him to doctors and psychologists, and his older sister making fun of him for as long as he could remember.

God, how he hated it.  But he didn’t know how to stop it.

\-------

“Hey-hey-hey,” Zak announced as he abandoned Maroon Five and put a classic love ballad on deck, a wedding reception standard.  “Time for the dollar-dance!” 

Quickly the guests retrieved dollar bills from purses and wallets.   Nick felt a sigh of relief escape his lips as Misty left the floor to fetch her purse, and he made his way back toward the bar.  Then he stopped, frozen, as the intro to Tramp’s “A Beautiful Life” began to play.  He barely had any warning before he felt himself spiraling out of the room.

Aaron was nearby.  He spotted Nick and, having witnessed a few of his “trips”, knew exactly what was going on.  He left his place in line for his dance with the bride and hurried to his friend.  “Nick!” he shouted over the music.  “Nick, snap out of it!” as he gave him a little shake.  But Nick was still staring at nothing, his eyes taking on that muddy, faraway expression.  It took Aaron several tries to bring Nick back and by that time he’d attracted the attention of people around them. 

Nick came around at last, and muttered, “Oh, shit.”  He glanced at Aaron, and then saw a few people nearby looking at him curiously.  “Damn it, Aaron, I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Aaron assured him.  “Are _you_ okay?”

“Yeah.  Thanks.”  Nick began to walk to the bar, his steps a little unsteady.  “I think I’m done for the night, though.”

Aaron nodded.  “Yeah, I’d stick to soda the rest of the night if I were you.  It took some work to get you back this time.”

Nick said again, “I’m sorry.  Go have your dance, I’ll be fine here.”  He sat down on a barstool and rested his forehead in his hand.  “A Coke, please,” he told the bartender.  Aaron gave him a dubious look, and Nick waved him away.  “I’m fine,” he repeated, though he was definitely _not_ fine.  Aaron returned to the dance floor, and when the song ended at last, it was replaced with Avril Lavigne’s “I’m with You.” Nick felt himself returning to whatever passed for himself these days.

It was the Tramp song that did it.  Nick had had it happen many times over the years when he’d hear a song by Tramp, at least until the trips had ceased in his late teens.  But this was the first time he had had one since he’d developed complete recall of what he experienced.

_A flash of colors – yellow and black.  A sensation of motion.  A blur of lights around him._

_As always, the girl.  Smiling, laughing, taking his hand and running with him along…a beach?_   _He could smell the saltiness of it, could feel the cool spray of it on his face, and hear the steady roar of the surf.  It was nighttime, and the moon was shining brightly above them.  He could see the girl’s hair flying behind her as she ran beside him, that beautiful hair glistening gold in the ethereal light._

_Falling to the sand together, breathless and laughing, taking the girl in his arms and kissing her with a passion that consumed them both. Her fingers tangled themselves in his long hair as she gave herself up to him so naturally, so completely –_

Nick finished his Coke and left the bar, going to the Men’s room.  Once inside and standing in front of the mirror, he rested his hands on the sink.  Leaning forward, Nick stared at his reflection, asking himself the same questions he had been asking since the trips had started imprinting themselves in his conscious mind.

_Who am I?_

What _am I?!_

He didn’t know how long he stood there.  He was vaguely aware of a few men entering and exiting, giving him a curious glance as they passed him.  He finally turned and had started for the door when it opened and the deejay stepped in.

“Hey…you okay?” the deejay asked.  Nick figured him to be close to his own age.  He was about six feet tall, very muscular, quite handsome with artfully styled jet hair and hazel eyes a shade or so lighter than Nick’s own.  “You looked like you got a little sick out there earlier.”

“I’m – I’m all right,” Nick muttered, feeling himself blush.  He was really getting tired of people asking him if he was okay, and now it was perfect strangers doing it.  For some reason though, Nick felt the need to elaborate.  “That Tramp song got me going on some – memories.”

Silence.   The deejay used the urinal, flushed and washed his hands.  He turned to Nick and said, “I talked to your friend out there.  He’s really worried about you, and from what he told me, he might have reason to be.  I’m Zak, by the way.”  Zak dried his hands, offered one, and Nick shook it. 

“Nick.”  Christ!  What the hell had Aaron told him, and why?

Then Nick realized there was no music playing.   The ballroom was filled only with the chatter and laughter of the wedding guests.  He opened the door and stepped into the now half-empty room.  The lights had gone up, and people were leaving.  His eyes widened, and he turned to Zak, who was walking with him.  “Jesus Christ.  How long was I in there?”

“About a half hour, I guess,” Zak told him.  “You only missed the bouquet and the garter toss.   But anyway, listen, Nick.  Your friend Aaron told me about what’s been happening to you.   I want to try to help you, and I think the two of you may be able to help me, too.”  He reached into his suit jacket and produced a card.  Handing it to Nick, he said, “My cell’s on here.  Give me a call and we’ll talk about it.”

\------

A week later, Nick found himself with Aaron at a coffeehouse, staring across the table at Zak Bagans.  _Yep, it’s official.  I’m crazy,_ he thought.  _Either that or this dude is, because I just do not believe what I am hearing._   Why did Aaron insist on meeting with this Zak guy, and why did Aaron think telling a stranger all about Nick’s problem was going to help in any way? 

_“Possession?”_ Nick echoed incredulously, feeling ridiculous even saying it.  “As in, _The Exorcist_ or something?  You think _that’s_ what I’ve got going on?”

Zak shook his head.  “Not quite.  That’s a demonic possession.  ‘Possession’ may be the wrong word.  I think what you have is a spirit _attachment._   Someone who died tragically, who’s desperate to cling to this life, and has attached himself to you.  He was probably a young guy and it sounds like he died a violent death.  This type of phenomena is really not that uncommon, you know, but it sounds to me like this attachment is unusually strong.”

Aaron sat beside Nick, his own thoughts echoing Nick’s misgivings about this deejay’s speculations as well as his sanity.  He regretted putting Nick into this situation more than he cared to admit, but he didn’t know what else to do.   The guy had come up to him after Nick had gone to the Men’s room, apparently having witnessed Nick’s episode, and before Aaron knew it he’d told Zak Bagans everything he knew.   Nick had been furious with him for confiding in a stranger, and now Aaron wondered what he’d gotten his friend into. 

Anyway, this Zak guy might have been off his rocker, but he sure seemed to believe in his own words.   Still – this was not the kind of thing Aaron was expecting and definitely not what he wanted to get involved with.  Nick needed real help, not this half-baked ghost attachment bullshit.  Aaron finally cleared his throat and spoke.  “I don’t know… this whole… _ghost_ thing…” he shook his head.  “I really don’t believe in that crap.  You die, you go to heaven or hell.  Why stick around haunting people, if you were a good person, when you could go to heaven and be with the Lord instead?”

Zak’s eyes bore into Aaron’s.  “It’s not an issue I’m going to debate with you; with either of you,” he stated, his stare shifting to Nick before returning to Aaron.  “Ghosts exist, whether we want to believe in them or not.  I told you before, I’ve seen one with my own eyes.  She spoke my _name_.  That’s where it started for me, guys.  I didn’t believe in the paranormal either, but once you’re face to face with a spirit like I was, well, you just can’t ignore that, okay?" 

At their silence, Zak finished his coffee and leaned forward, his expression intense.  “I want to find real, valid, compelling evidence of the paranormal and document it.  I want to capture it on audio and video.  And that’s where I need your help, both of you.”  He glanced at Nick.  “You’re an empath, Nick.  It’s clear to me that you are open to the other side, since you have an attachment already.”  He looked at Aaron again.  “And both of you have the technical skills I’m looking for.  I really don’t give a damn if you believe in ghosts or not, Aaron.  That’s not important.  Though I think I can guarantee you _will_ believe once we’re done with this project.” 

Nick picked up his coffee cup and stared at it, then at the ceiling, and then he spoke.  “Let’s just say for argument’s sake that you’re right, Zak.  I have the spirit of some dead guy hanging onto me.  I’m remembering his life, his girl, his death.  So now how do I get rid of it – _him?_   That’s all I want, you know.  I want to live a normal life.”

Zak raised an eyebrow.

“This isn’t normal,” Nick snapped. 

“Well, from the sounds of it, it’s been _your_ normal all your life.”  Zak shrugged.  “If you’re a true empath, even if you manage to get rid of this spirit, there will be another along to take his place, at least until you learn how to shield yourself.”  At Nick’s dubious expression, Zak continued, “look, I’ve been studying the paranormal for a while now, and that’s how it works.  I’ve talked to empaths.  I’ve talked to mediums, clairvoyants, clairaudients, demonologists, priests, the whole works.  I had to learn as much as I could, in order to prepare myself for investigating and finding, and then communicating with spirits.  Part of that preparation is knowing how to protect myself from the kind of situation you’ve got going on, or worse.  There _is_ worse, you know.”  He paused.  “Aren’t you the least bit curious to know who this spirit was in this life?  To find out more about him, and how he died?”

Nick shook his head.  “No.  I’m not convinced that’s what it is, and no. I just want it gone,” he stated firmly.

“The thing is, Nick, that might be the only way to help him move on,” Zak persisted. 

Nick sighed.  “I really don’t know.  All I know is, it’s getting worse, and I’m going to end up in a mental ward someplace if it doesn’t stop!”  He set his cup down firmly.  “You said you think you can help me.  How is this supposed to help me?”

Zak studied him.  “By immersing yourself in the paranormal, you can maybe reach this spirit in a way you haven’t been able to.  As it is now, you’re not even acknowledging his existence!  Right now, this spirit is in control of you, you’re battling with him on a daily basis, and he’s winning.  You have to switch that around.  _You’re_ the living breathing person, Nick.  This spirit has been a squatter in your head all your life and you need to understand his world.  You need to communicate with him, and make him understand it’s time to move on to whatever’s next.” He leaned back.  “Does this make sense?”

Aaron glanced over and saw Nick intently studying Zak, absorbing his words.  Shifting uncomfortably, he abruptly changed the subject.  His eyes narrowed as he said, “Before we go any further with this, you should know we can’t work for free.”  He pointed at Nick, saying,  “He  graduated UNLV with honors.  I wasn’t the 4.0 student he was, but I did okay, and I’ve gotten some work in the field.  I’m doing some UFC matches in the next few weeks, and Nick’s the chief film editor on a big indie movie next month, isn’t that right, Nick?”  At Nick’s nod, Aaron continued, “So….if Nick wants to do this, I guess I’m game too, but we’re not going to just take off and follow you around for nothing.  We have bills to pay.”

Zak gave Aaron a half-smile.  “You’ll be compensated, don’t worry about that.  And it’s only for a few weeks, maybe a month.” 

Aaron looked at Nick.  He’d run out of arguments, and this was more about Nick than about himself, anyway.  He’d let Nick decide.

Nick glanced at Aaron, then at Zak, saying nothing for a moment.  His finger traced a pattern on the table, frowning.  He finally sighed and looked up.  “All right.  I’m in.  But _only_ for a few weeks.  Whether we find what you’re looking for or not, Zak.  I didn’t bust my ass at UNLV to run around in abandoned buildings in some godforsaken ghost towns to try to film ghosts which may or may not even exist.  I mean, what the hell can that possibly lead to, professionally speaking?”

Zak’s smile broadened.  “Well, we’ll have to see, won’t we?”

****

And so it began.


	15. Chapter 15

July, 2007

Jamie Alberts stepped outside the east entrance of the Mall of America, scanning the third level parking ramp and trying to remember where she’d parked her car.  The place was huge, and crowded for a summer day during mid-week.  It was extremely hot and humid, which was probably why folks had hit the climate-controlled comfort of the mall, she thought.   Business had been brisk at Forever 21, where she was an assistant manager.  A swim at the very popular Lake Calhoun sounded good, she mused as she made her way through the ramp and located her car six rows back, a late model silver Toyota Camry.

Jamie was twenty-two years old, a tall, slim girl who, other than her eyes, took after her father in looks and her mother in personality.  She was their only child, and had moved out the previous year.  She suspected her parents suffered a bit from “empty nest” syndrome, and Jamie tried to visit them at least once a week.   She remembered today was the day and regretfully dropped the idea of Lake Calhoun.  Her mother and father would insist she stay for dinner, then a board game or a movie or something, which would turn it into a late evening.

Jamie loved her parents a great deal.  Lee and Jessie Alberts been more than supportive her entire life, even when she came out during her junior year of high school.  They’d accepted her girlfriend, Brittani, accepted when Jamie had moved out to live with her, and provided comfort just six months ago when Britt abruptly vacated their Elliot Park apartment and moved in with her new lover somewhere in the suburbs.  A familiar wave of sadness passed through Jamie, but it was very fleeting these days.  Things were looking up, and she wondered if it was time to start thinking about dating again.  She’d talk to her parents about it tonight, she decided.

***

Jessie Tremont-Alberts regarded her daughter across the table.  She glanced at her husband, who looked back at her and shrugged noncommittally.  Jessie sighed.  “Well, your father was my first and only real relationship, so I really don’t know how long is long enough, honey.”  She dabbed at her lips with a napkin.  “Have you met anyone?”

Jamie shook her head of long reddish brown hair.  “No.  I mean, there’s this one girl at work, but….I think she’s straight, or at most bi, so…”

Jessie nodded understandingly.  “It can’t be easy to meet girls.  I mean, how do you even bring it up?  ‘Are you gay?’ Just like that? “

“Yeah, I know.  About the only place you can actually be confident in approaching women is in a lesbian bar, and bars are not the place to meet people you want to get involved with long-term, you know?” She bit her lip, then added, “Well, I guess there’s online dating, too.”  Jamie’s hazel-brown eyes – identical to her mother’s – were pensive and a little sad.  She shrugged.  “Well anyway, what movie are we watching tonight?”

“There’s an end-of-the-world type flick on SyFy,” Lee offered.  “I know you love that genre.”

“With all the low-budget cheeseball special effects?  Sounds good!” Jamie grinned.  She helped her mother clear up the dishes and they settled in the family room in front of Jessie’s Christmas present from her husband and daughter, a fifty-inch plasma television.  Lee put on the SyFy channel, but what was on was not the apocalyptic film that had been advertised. 

What was on instead appeared to be a documentary featuring three young men traveling around Nevada, called “Ghost Adventures”.   It didn’t look very professionally done to Jamie, and after a few minutes she groaned, “What else is on, dad?” 

“Oh, I don’t know, Jamie.  This sounds kind of interesting.”  But Lee pushed the guide button on the remote.  In the window that still showed the documentary, the camera zoomed in on each of the three guys.  One had jet black hair done in the latest style.  Another had dark hair and was husky built.  Then the third –

A gasp came from Jessie.  Jamie turned to look at her mother, and she was staring at the screen, her eyes huge, and her face draining of color.

“Mom?”

“Oh, my God….” Jessie whispered in a thin, shaking voice.  “Lee, bring back the full screen and record this.  _Now_.”

“Jess, hun, what is it?” Lee asked his wife, even as he did as she asked and pressed the Record button for the DVR.  “What?” he asked again.

“That guy – the-the-the one with the brown hair– his face, his _eyes_ –“Jessie kept staring, her face white.  “Are you _recording_ it?”

“Yeah, I’m recording it!  What’s the matter?”

“Mom, are you okay?” Jamie said urgently. 

“Oh, my God….” Jessie breathed again.  She was trembling.  “He – he looks just like – just like Joshua.”  She tore her eyes from the TV.  “Lee?  Doesn’t he?”

Lee studied the man when the camera panned to him again.  He frowned and looked at Jessie.  “A little, maybe.  What about it?  Lots of people look alike.” 

Jessie shook her head.  “No.  There’s something else.  Something beyond his eyes and his face.  I can’t – quite put my finger on it, but….”

“Mom,” Jamie began, dreading the answer she knew she would hear, but unable to help herself from asking.  Jamie’s voice was gentle as she continued, “Mom, are you talking about your brother, Joshua?”

The reporters had stopped bothering her mother long ago, and Jamie couldn’t remember Jessie’s agony in those days when the “tell-all” books were published and the Lifetime movie was released.  Most of it had happened before she was born.  But of course she’d heard about it.   Each of those events had been accompanied by an onslaught of media descending on her mother as well as every member of the Tremont family.

No one had to tell Jamie about the events before her birth; simple research had given her the story.  She knew her mother steadfastly refused to believe her older brother was guilty of the crime he was convicted of posthumously and that she’d fought to clear his name, to little avail.  To the police, the FBI, and the DA, the case was open and shut.   The fact that Jessie’s and Joshua’s own father, John, was doing time for murder only further solidified the case against Joshua in the eyes of the law, and in the court of public opinion.

Jamie could not remember her mother ever mentioning Joshua to anyone.  She’d borne her pain in silence.

Until now.

***

The world had been stunned by the earthquake.  Sirena Welsh being counted among the casualties only added to the horror of the event, its aftermath being played out on news stations all over the planet.   Jessie had seen the breaking news the next day, and was struck with shock and disbelief. _I just talked to her last night_ , she thought incoherently as the newscast showed a photograph of Sirena, and under it, in bold type, were the words “SINGER SIRENA WELSH AMONG THE DEAD”.  She wept and wondered about her brother.  Was Joshua all right?  Did he know?  She picked up the phone and called his number, but was greeted by a recording informing her that circuits were busy.  Repeatedly she tried throughout the day, as did her mother, only to get the same recording.

Jessie’s questions were answered later that day.  The phone rang, and her mother picked it up.

“Hello.”

“Is this the Janice Tremont residence?” the male voice asked through crackling static.

“Janice Bannerman,” Janice corrected.  “Yes, it is.”

“My name is Ted Sholin, and I'm with the UCLA Medical Center in Los Angeles, California.  Who am I speaking with, please?”

“This is Janice Bannerman,” she said.  “Is this about – about my son?  Joshua?”

“Yes, ma’am.  Could you please hold?”

“Hold?  But –“

Jessie rose and joined her mother in the kitchen.  “Mom – is it Joshua?” her eyes were red-rimmed and her young face etched with worry.

Janice nodded, and Jessie began to cry.  “He’s gone, isn’t he?  He’s dead.” She sat in a chair and began to sob.

Janice swallowed hard.  “I don’t know.  They have me on hold, honey.”  But she knew.   She was his mother, and she knew. Oh, she and Joshua hadn’t been very close; she’d been distracted with each new baby, starting with Jessica, and dealing with her husband John and his boozing and abuse.  But under all of that was a bond between herself and her eldest son that nothing and no one could break.  It was a biological, if not an outwardly emotional, fact.  As she sat there on hold, Janice's mind skipped backwards.

She’d tried to leave John, multiple times.  In those days and in that place, options for women fleeing abuse were next to nil, and Janice wasn’t a strong woman.  The kids were so young, and staying seemed the best of bad options.  She protected them the best she could when John came home drunk and mean, and she took the brunt of his rage.  But Joshua was old enough to witness whatever he didn’t receive directly, and Janice guessed correctly that he resented her for it.   She didn’t blame him.  He was a very sensitive, quiet boy, never any trouble.  Very unlike his siblings.  It wasn’t just that he was the oldest; he just seemed to feel things more. 

When John went to prison, things got a little better, though with the loss of John’s sporadic income, they were quickly in danger of losing the little trailer and ending up on the streets.  Joshua began working at the age of twelve, and whatever he didn’t give to his mother to support the family he put away to buy his guitar.  Then she had married Mark Bannerman – out of desperation more than anything else – though she'd come to love her new husband in time - he was a good provider and never hit her or her children, and never touched alcohol.

Her mind was jolted back to the present with a click on the line and Ted Sholin's voice.  “Mrs. Bannerman, again, this is the UCLA Medical Center in Los Angeles, California.  You have a son, Joshua Nicholas Tremont, is this correct?”

Janice felt herself sinking numbly into a chair beside Jessie.  “Yes, that’s right.  Is he there?  Is he all right?” she asked urgently, praying her instincts were wrong and her son was still alive after all.  Jessie was staring at her, still weeping.

“I’m sorry, Mrs. Bannerman.  He was in a house that collapsed in the earthquake.  He didn’t survive.”

The phone fell from Janice’s numb hand.  She turned to look at Jessie, whose hand was clapped over her mouth.  Above it, her hazel-brown eyes, identical to her brothers, were huge. “He’s gone, Jess,” Janice said, her voice low.

“No!”  Jessie screamed..  “It’s a mistake.  They’re wrong, it’s not Joshua!  I just talked to him last night!  Today is his birthday, mom!  _It has to be a mistake!”_  

Janice picked up the phone again.  “I’m here.  I’m sorry, I’m sure you understand.”

“Of course, ma’am.  I am very sorry for your loss.”

_“It’s not Joshua!  It can’t be!”_ Jessie cried, clawing for the phone.  “ _Tell them they’re wrong, goddammit!”_

Janice tried to hold her daughter, hushing her, but Jess wriggled free.  “What do I need to do?” Janice asked the man on the phone.

Jess ran from the room, still screaming and sobbing.

Janice was silent, listening, then said, “All right.  Thank you.  I’ll be in touch after my husband comes home.”

She replaced the receiver and went to Jessie’s room she shared with her younger sister, Jodie.  Thank God the younger kids were all in school and Bryce was napping.  She sat beside Jess who was lying face down on the bottom bunk, sobbing into her pillow.  “Jess, honey, I know.  But he’s gone.”  Janice flashed back on Joshua’s birth, his infancy, his toddler years, and she too gave in to her grief.  Jess sat up and hugged her mother.  The two women sat there, surrounded by boxes of Jess’s things she had been packing for her upcoming move to Minnesota, and that’s where the rest of the family found them later that day.

But their nightmare had just begun. 

***

“Jess,” Lee began.  “I don’t think you should be doing this to yourself.  It was a long time ago, and it’s over.”  He took her hand.  “You went through hell.  We all did.  But it’s over now.  Let his memory rest in peace.”

Jess dabbed at her eyes, and looked at her daughter, then her husband.  Her voice was bitter. “It’s never been over for me, Lee.  Never.  Lifetime still plays that stupid movie once in a while, and those books are still making those lying bastards a fortune.  _Joshua did not kill Sirena Welsh and he did not commit suicide!”_

Lee sighed.  “Maybe not.  But anyone who can prove it is either dead or has disappeared.”

Jamie squeezed her mother’s other hand, the one clutching the tissue.  “You want some tea?”  At her mother’s nod, Jamie rose.  Disjointedly, she thought, all of this because some guy on TV reminded her mother of her dead brother?  Or was that just the catalyst needed…had Jessie been subconsciously wanting to talk about this?  Had holding it all in for two decades been long enough?  Whatever it was, she suspected now that the dam had leaked, nothing was going to stop her mother from telling the rest of the story.

***

Joshua.  Her brother.  A murderer. 

He’d killed Sirena Welsh in a fit of jealous rage, then turned the gun on himself, just before the earthquake.

That was the official story coming out of the DA’s office and the FBI after the autopsies.  Each of them had been shot by a .38 caliber bullet; Sirena in the back, exiting through her abdomen, Joshua through the chest, exiting out of his back.  The gun in question was found near the bodies, a snub-nosed .38 revolver.  End of story.

Jessie refused to believe it. 

Her stepfather spoke with the authorities in California, hoping with his status as a police officer he could get more information, but that was futile; a small-town Iowa cop had absolutely no pull in California.  “Something’s weird, though,” Mark stated to his wife and stepdaughter as he hung up the phone. “But then, this entire case is weird.” 

“So, you don’t think Joshua did it?” Jess looked at Mark hopefully.

“I didn’t say that.  It’s just – suicides just don’t happen like this.  Shooting himself in the chest?  They go for the head. They’re saying Joshua shot himself in the chest.  And from what little I got from the medical examiner, the angle’s a little funny for a self-inflicted gunshot.  But Jess, without more evidence…” he shrugged.  “I guess we have to trust that they know what they’re doing out there.” He scratched his head.  “I’ve never had to investigate a murder-suicide.  This is way above my capabilities.  I’m sorry.”

Jess was shaking her head adamantly.  “No.  No, Joshua didn’t do this.  You don’t understand.  He loved Sirena!”

“Well, if that’s true, there’s motive right there.”  Mark said.  “A young guy in love with his idol, and when he finds out she doesn’t care about him, well –“he shrugged again.  “These things happen.  It’s sick, it’s disturbing, but –“he glanced at Janice, sitting white-faced and silent as she had since they’d gotten the news from the authorities in California a couple of hours before.  “I’m sorry, but with his upbringing as a child…” he stopped when Janice began to weep.

“No!”  Jessie cried.  “He wouldn’t _do_ this!  You weren’t close with him and don’t know him, Mark, but Joshua was nothing like dad, okay?  And I talked to Joshua, I talked to Sirena, she was with him at his place just a few hours before it happened!  She told me herself that she was in love with Joshua!”

Mark frowned.  “Are you sure?”

“Yes!” Jess ran from the room and returned with a tape recorder in her hand.  “Listen to this.”  She pressed Play.

Mark listened.  The quality wasn’t good, but he clearly could hear music and who he recognized as Joshua singing.  He glanced at Jess and she was crying.  Janice was staring vacantly into space, but her tears were flowing as well. 

The song ended and he heard the voices, male and female, saying goodbye through the long-distance connection, and Jessie’s clear voice in reply.  Then the recording ended.

“That was Sirena?” Mark asked.

Jess nodded.  “The song was one Joshua wrote just before that night.  I asked him to play and sing for me.”

“And when you called, you called his number, so that means Sirena was at his place.”

Jess nodded again.  “Joshua and Sirena were working together on her album.  You knew that.  But they fell in love, too.  She told me herself, just before I recorded this.”  Jess pointed at the tape recorder.  “So what they’re saying out there in L.A. is total bullshit!”

Mark sat silently for a moment, then said, “Yeah.  If what you’re saying is true, something isn’t adding up.  But this tape really doesn’t prove anything either way, Jessie.  If you’d recorded the conversation with Sirena – well -”

Jess drew a shaking breath.  “Mark, my brother and Sirena Welsh were murdered.  I know it.  Someone else killed them!”

Mark touched her hair.  “You have to understand something, Jess.  It won’t make you feel any better, but the fact is, even if they hadn’t been shot, the quake would have killed them regardless.  Their bodily injuries – “he coughed delicately, not wanting to share the details he’d been told by the reluctant medical examiner.  “It was bad.  They couldn’t have survived.”

“But they could have gotten out of the house if they hadn’t been shot!” Jess cried.

Mark sighed, his eyes sympathetic.  “Maybe.  Maybe not.  We’ll never know now.”

Joshua’s guilt was cemented by the statement of a man named Giorgio who came forward and told the authorities he’d been most recently employed as Sirena Welsh’s bodyguard and had been in the Westwood house when Joshua had come in.  He had forced his way in along with two men who’d subdued Giorgio while Joshua went to her bedroom and committed the murder, then turned the gun on himself.  Giorgio’s bruised appearance verified his story about the beating he had suffered at the hands of Joshua’s cohorts, and a manhunt was underway for the two of them.

Mark broke this news to Janice and Jessie a few days after the funeral.  “I’m sorry, Jess, but it looks like Joshua’s guilty,” he told her quietly after he hung up the phone.  Jess turned white and stalked away without a word.  Janice sighed wearily and said she blamed herself.  Joshua had been damaged by the kind of upbringing he’d had, that was it.  Something was broken inside of him, just like his father.  She sighed again, looking at least fifteen years older than she was.

“You can’t know that,” Mark told her gently.  “Granted, I wasn’t very close to the kid, but –“

“I should have left him the first time he beat me,” Janice mused, her voice devoid of emotion.  “And then he started on the kids, Joshua the worst because he was the oldest.”  Her vacant eyes closed, as if trying in vain to shut out the memories.  “Joshua was a tough kid.   He didn’t act up as you would expect him to.  He learned to avoid his father by the time he was seven or eight, and I protected him, all of them, as best as I could.  It wasn’t enough.  I was weak.  Weak and stupid.”  Her eyes opened.  “And now, because of me, two young talented people are dead.”  She looked at her husband. “I killed them, Mark.  I killed my own child.”

It was the last time Janice ever spoke of Joshua.  A few years later, just after Thanksgiving of 1984, the Lifetime movie came out and Janice Bannerman overdosed on her back pain medication, leaving behind her husband, five children and a granddaughter on the way.

***

Jessie’s voice trailed off and she sipped her tea, setting the cup on the coffee table which was now strewn with photos of Joshua, from infancy until just before he left for L.A.  Lee had gone to bed, as he had an important meeting with a client downtown early in the morning.  Jess and her daughter were left alone in the family room.

“Mom, did you ever take that tape to the authorities?” Jamie asked, studying the most recent photo Jess had of her brother.  In it, Joshua was leaning against a yellow Camaro, shining with new paint and a wax job.  Joshua was grinning proudly.  He held the hand of his youngest sibling, her uncle Bryce who was about three or four years old in the picture.   Joshua’s rich brown hair, which fell below his shoulders, was blowing a little in the wind, the sun picking up the reddish highlights, and Jamie recognized in Joshua her own eyes and those of her mother, her mother’s wide grin and high cheekbones, her strong chin.  He was on the lean side but an extremely good-looking guy.  Jamie also could certainly see the resemblance between her uncle and the guy on TV that had gotten her mother into such a state earlier in the evening.

Several more photos showed Joshua working on the car, playing guitar, riding horseback with friends.  Jamie looked at one close-up photo where Joshua was directly facing the camera.  His high school senior photo.  His hair was tied back in a low ponytail.   She looked very closely, then turned the DVR on, scanning until she found a reasonably similar front view of the man that had startled her mother so.  She held up the photo, her eyes flitting back and forth between it and the freeze-frame on the TV.  _Dear God_ , she thought.  They weren’t perfectly identical; Joshua’s face at seventeen was a little thinner.  But eerily similar.  Especially the eyes, and there was something else – something behind the eyes.  

“Of course I contacted them,” Jessie replied.  She was looking at the photos on the coffee table.  “I contacted the FBI, I drove to Des Moines and talked to them personally.  I told them who I was, what I knew, and that I had the tape.  They listened to it, they passed it along to the division in California.  They called me back and said it didn’t prove Joshua’s innocence at all.”  She sighed.  “They were able to verify it was Sirena’s voice, but I didn’t record anything but the song and when they said goodbye at the end.  They told me the fact that Sirena was at Joshua’s house when I called him had no bearing on what happened, or what their relationship was or was not.  All they had was my word on what was said before I recorded the song.”  She shook her head, and Jamie could hear the anger and frustration in her voice as she continued, “I offered to take a polygraph test!  They said it would be inadmissible as evidence!  When Sirena’s bodyguard came forward as an eyewitness, it sealed the entire case as far as they were concerned.  After that, they didn’t listen to a word I said.”

“What about the two guys this bodyguard claimed beat him up?” Jamie turned off the TV and kept studying the photographs.

“They were never found.”  Jessie shook her head.  “I don’t know who they were or if they even existed.”

Jamie was silent a moment, then said thoughtfully, “You said he had a couple of roommates, right?  It might have been them.”

Jess turned to her daughter.  “It didn’t happen like that, Jamie!  My brother did not kill himself or anyone else!”

“I didn’t say he _did_ do it, mom,” Jamie said soothingly. “But you did tell me earlier that Joshua had a couple of roommates.  Who were they?”

“I have no idea,” she answered.  “They played drums and bass on the song with Joshua and Sirena that night, but I don’t know who they were, or anything about them.  They didn’t even come to the funeral.  I think my mother knew their names.”  She gave a sad half-smile.  “And she’s not here anymore to ask.”

Jamie frowned.  “Isn’t it odd that his friends didn’t come to the funeral, though?”

Jessie shrugged.  “Iowa is a long way from California.  It _is_ odd we never heard from either of them, though, yes.  I always thought so, but your grandma wasn’t exactly in any condition to discuss this stuff, honey.  She really slid downhill after they closed the case against Joshua, as I said.  She believed he did it, she blamed herself, she went into a really terrible depression, and Grandpa Mark and I took care of your aunt Jodie and your uncles.”  She sighed.  “It’s really a blur, now.  I remember the news people and the cameras following us around.  Your grandma was put in a mental hospital and we thought she was oblivious to all of it, until that damned Lifetime movie came out.  That pushed her over the edge, and she couldn’t take any more.”  Jess blinked several times.  “The first chance she got, which was when she was released from the mental hospital in Des Moines, she got hold of her pain pills.”  Jess shook her head.  “We really should have known….I was the one who found her body.  She’d taken all of her morphine at once.  When I found her, the empty bottle was beside her.”

A silence.  A long silence.  Jamie studied the photographs some more.  Then, “Mom….” Jamie said, her voice hesitant.  “Mom, do you still have that tape?”

Jessie smiled tremulously.  “It’s my most treasured possession.  I made a copy before I took it to the FBI in case they wanted to keep it as evidence.  Which of course they did.  I gave them the copy I’d made.  I have the original.”  She rose and, a little unsteadily, left the room, returning a few moments later with an old-fashioned tape recorder.  “Here it is.”  She sat again and pressed Play.

Jamie listened intently.  She’d only heard her uncle sing and play once, and that was on a Peter Frampton album released around Christmas in 1979, long before she was born.  Her dad had played it for her, asking her not to mention it to her mother as it would upset her.  Joshua had been very talented, she thought with a pang of sadness then, and now.

The song was beautiful, and clearly written by a man in love.  And she recognized Sirena Welsh’s voice at once when she joined in.  The quality of the recording was tinny and static-laden, but Jamie was enthralled by the song, by its message, by the way her uncle’s and Sirena’s voices melded so perfectly together.  She listened breathlessly until it was over, and looked at her mother with tears in her own eyes.

“Oh, my God, mom.  I believe it.  My uncle is innocent,” she whispered.  “No one could write a song and sing like that otherwise.”

“I haven’t played this in years,” Jess said, her voice breaking with emotion.  She looked at her daughter whose mouth was set in a tight, thin, determined line, a Tremont trait.  

Jamie’s voice was filled with resolve as she spoke.  She wiped her tears and said, “I want to help him, mom.  I want to help you clear his name.”


End file.
